ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 


ONLY 
RELATIVES  INVITED 

A  Social  and  a  Socialistic  Satire 


By 

CHARLE;S  SHERMAN 

Author  of 

He  Comes  Up  Smiling,  The  Upper  Crust, 
A  Wise  Son,  etc. 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1916 
THB  BOBBS-MEHRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS  or 

BRAUNWOPTM  IL   CO. 

BOOKBINDERS   «NO   PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,   N.   V. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  FIRST  ARRIVALS           .....  1 

II  NELLY  AND  THE  SOCIALIST           ....  14 

III  FEMALES  AND  FEMINISTS 27 

IV  VERA  MEETS  HER  FATHER         ....  40 
V  AND  LEARNS  A  THING  OR  Two     ....  S3 

VI  THE  FOURTH  ASSISTANT  GARDENER     .         .         .  60 

VII  THELUNCHEOK 71 

VIII  MISSVARNEY 91 

IX  THE  RUBINSTEINS'  WINDOW        ....  106 

X  MORE  RELATIVES 122 

XI  THE  FIRST  WIFE'S  CHILD 135 

XII  HUSBAND'S  DAY 147 

|XIII  SAUCE  TOR  THE  GOOSE 166 

XIV  A  GAY  DOG 188 

XV  THE  DISTRIBUTOR  OF  MILLIONS            ...  209 

XVI  LOVE,  THE  LZVELER 222 

XVII  Too  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY            .         .         .  232 

XVIII  LEAVING  ALL  SHE  HAD      .         .         .  .248 

XIX  WHO  is  THE  HEIR 256 

XX  EVERYBODY  SUSPECTED        .....  265 

XXI  SOME  SUDDEN  DEPARTURES          ....  274 

XXII  Two  MORE  FIND  THE  WAY          ....  288 

XXIII  SAFETY  FIRST  FOR  NELLY  .         .  .296 

XXIV  A  REFORMED  SOCIALIST      .....  306 


2138190 


ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 


ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  FIRST  ARRIVALS 

THE  great  house  on  the  hill  basked  in  the 
springtime  peace  and  calm  like  a  stout 
woman  placid  in  the  security  of  millions.  Reu- 
ben Rubenstein,  on  his  knees  near  the  wide 
marble  steps,  tinkering  with  the  hard-used 
lawn-mower,  heard  the  distant  puffing  of  an 
automobile  and  glanced  up.  Down  the  slope  of 
vivid  well-kept  lawn,  between  the  shrubs  and 
century-old  trees,  he  could  see  the  stately  gate- 
way, the  majestic  white  pillars  and  the  Apple- 
bys'  coat-of-arms  on  a  massive  bronze  shield 
set  in  the  iron  palings.  As  he  looked,  the  gates 
swung  open  and  a  limousine  turned  in  and  took 
the  steep  driveway  to  the  house. 

"There's  the  first,"  giggled  the  stable-boy, 
1 


2  ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

who,  passing  with  the  wheel-barrow,  paused  a 
moment  to  watch  appreciatively  the  quiet  ap- 
proach of  the  great  red  car. 

"Honest  men's  oppressors,"  exclaimed  Reu- 
ben, as  frankly  disgusted  with  the  idle  rich,  as 
he  was  Jew.  "What  right  have  they  to  that 
money  they  spend  while  we  who  make  it  have 
none?" 

The  stable-boy  shrugged,  unimpressed  with 
the  woes  of  labor.  "They  stole  it;  we  didn't 
have  the  sense,"  he  explained  cheerfully.  "Be 
good,  and  if  you  can't  be  good,  be  rich." 

"You're  wrong,"  jeered  Reuben,  his  thin, 
keen  boyish  face  flushed,  his  eyes  blazing.  "Be 
rich,  and  if  you  can't  be  rich,  be  damned,  that's 
their  motto." 

The  head  gardener  glanced  down  from  the 
terrace  at  his  fourth  assistant.  "Got  a  grouch 
on?"  he  asked  kindly. 

"It  ain't  a  grouch,"  returned  Reuben  hotly. 
"It's  honest  indignation.  Look  at  them  with 
millions  more  than  they  can  spend,  and  when 
the  old  'un  dies,  they  get  forty  millions  more." 

"Don't  be  peeved  about  it  none,"  advised  the 
stable-boy,  picking  up  the  wheel-barrow  and 


THE  FIRST  ARRIVALS  3 

disappearing  around  the  house,  followed  by  the 
head  gardener. 

Reuben  Rubenstein  spat  derisively  and 
watched  the  great  car  as  it  drew  nearer  and 
finally  stopped  at  the  steps,  not  two  feet  from 
him.  A  liveried  footman  leaped  down,  opened 
the  door  and  stood  rigidly  to  one  side.  Reu- 
ben, scorning  to  act  the  menial  and  not  to  dare 
raise  his  eyes  to  those  above  him,  sat  back  on 
his  heels  and  stared  rather  insolently. 

A  girl  stepped  out,  a  young  pretty  slip  of  a 
girl,  with  a  sweet  face,  the  latest  slouch  and 
the  last  cry  in  automobile  coats.  Her  eyes  were 
gray  and  soft  and  good-natured,  her  mouth  was 
full  and  a  trifle  pouting,  and  she  had  practically 
no  chin  at  all.  She  stepped  aside  on  the  lawn 
and  glanced  curiously  around.  Appraising  the 
value  of  the  place,  thought  Reuben  in  pleasur- 
able scorn. 

A  tall  young  man  alighted  and  started  at 
once  up  the  terrace  steps.  Suddenly  realizing 
that  he  was  alone,  he  paused  and  glanced  back 
at  the  girl.  He  was  tall  and  thin,  with  a  pleas- 
ant face.  He  wore  glasses,  his  narrow  mouth 
was  gentle  instead  of  weak  and  his  nose,  up- 


4  ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

turned  and  unexpectedly  small  for  the  rest  of 
his  face,  lent  an  air  of  boyishness  to  his  mild  ex- 
pression. Ricky  Crane  was,  as  his  wife  was 
wont  to  say,  "cute." 

"Coming,  dear?"  he  asked,  as  the  footman 
shut  the  car  door  and  the  machine  rolled  away. 
Something  in  the  unblinking  scrutiny  of  the 
fourth  assistant  gardener,  still  on  his  knees  by 
the  disabled  lawn-mower,  drew  Ricky's  atten- 
tion, and  even  as  he  spoke,  he  glanced  down  into 
the  upturned  face  of  Reuben  Rubenstein.  He 
was  an  agreeable  young  fellow  and  he  felt  called 
on  to  say  something  before  this  unswerving 
gaze  of  a  brother  man. 

"Ah,  howdy-do,"  said  he- 

Reuben  grunted,  refusing  to  touch  his  hat. 

The  girl  had  turned  and  observed  this  new 
and  interesting  lack  of  deference.  She  glanced 
at  her  husband  and  her  full  sweet  mouth  dim- 
pled. Ricky  stared  a  moment  in  mild  surprise 
and  then  spoke  again  to  his  wife : 

"Coming,  Nel?" 

She  nodded  and  followed  him  up  the  marble 
steps,  across  the  marble  terrace,  and  under  the 
gaily  colored  awning  to  the  front  door. 


THE  FIRST  ARRIVALS  5 

"Ricky,"  said  she,  touching  her  husband's 
arm,  and  slightly  nodding  backward  where 
Reuben,  still  on  his  knees,  stared  after  them, 
"Ricky,  I  do  believe  he's  an  anarchist." 

"He's  a  Jew,  my  dear,"  said  Ricky,  peering 
through  the  screen  door  into  the  darkened  hall. 
"I  hope  we  aren't  the  first  to  come." 

"We  probably  are,"  said  Nel.  "It  would  be 
just  our  luck." 

"I  didn't  want  to  come  at  all,"  said  Ricky 
plaintively.  "It's  so  deuced  embarrassing  to 
have  all  us  relatives  coming  as  fast  as  we  can 
and  the  old  lady  dying.  What  do  you  suppose 
she  wants  to  see  us  for?  It  can't  be  to  say 
good-by.  No  one  thinks  he's  dying  until  he's 
dead." 

"Wants  to  see  to  whom  to  leave  her  money," 
returned  Nel,  peering,  in  her  turn,  into  the  hall. 
"She  has  forty  millions,  Ricky." 

"Sounds  good  to  me,"  said  Ricky.  "But  what 
does  she  want  to  see  us  for?  Is  she  going  to 
leave  it  to  the  best-looking?" 

"I  hope  not !    I  would  hate  to  miss  it." 

"You're  no  homelier  than  the  others,"  en- 
couraged Ricky. 


6  ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

She  pinched  him  and  dropped  Great-aunt 
Appleby  to  return  to  the  fourth  assistant  gar- 
dener. "I  think  I'll  speak  to  him.  I  have 
never  talked  to  an  anarchist." 

"Aren't  you  coming  in?"  demanded  the 
frightened  Ricky. 

'Til  be  in  directly.  Here's  the  bell.  I've 
pushed  it  for  you." 

"Oh,  I  say,  Nel,  wait  a  minute.  She's  your 
relative,  not  mine." 

"I  know,  Ricky,  but  even  then,  she  won't 
bite  you,"  returned  Nel  cheerfully,  turning 
away,  as  a  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  hall 
opened  and  a  tall  white-clad  woman  ap- 
proached them. 

"Nel,"  pleaded  Ricky  in  a  harsh  whisper,  but 
Nel  had  fled  before  the  woman  within  had 
reached  the  door. 

She  unlatched  the  screen  and  held  it  open 
while  young  Crane  entered,  hat  in  hand.  The 
woman  was  young  and  decidedly  pretty,  with 
great  soft  eyes  and  a  small  firm  mouth  above  a 
squarely  determined  chin.  She  was  tall,  nearly 
as  tall  as  Ricky  himself,  and  while  not  fat,  was 
most  charmingly  plump.  She  was  clad  in  white 


THE  FIRST  ARRIVALS  7 

linen,  a  very  plain,  very  severe,  very  becoming 
gown,  with  small  white  shoes  just  visible  be- 
neath the  hem  of  the  narrow  skirt.  It  was 
clear  at  the  first  glance  that  she  was  no  serv- 
ant; probably  one  of  the  numerous  relatives 
of  Nel's  eccentric  Great-aunt  Appleby,  Ricky 
decided,  as,  left  in  the  lurch  by  his  wife,  he 
bowed  politely  and  murmured  "Good  after- 
noon." She  smiled  delightfully,  revealing  a 
row  of  small  white  teeth  and  a  dimple  in  each 
smooth  plump  cheek,  faintly  flushed  with  the 
heat  of  the  day. 

"Come  in,"  she  said,  her  eyes  leaving  his  and 
following  Nel  out  into  the  sunshine  which 
flooded  the  terrace  beyond  the  protection  of  the 
gaily  striped  awning. 

"She  will  be  in  directly,"  explained  Ricky. 
"She  wants  to  speak  to  the  anarchist." 

"Anarchist?"  she  questioned  in  a  delightful 
throaty  drawl. 

"Our  Jewish  friend,"  said  Ricky,  and  smiled 
down  into  the  soft  brown  eyes. 

The  girl  laughed.  "He  is  one  of  the  garden- 
ers ;  may  I  ask  who  you  are  ?  I  am  Miss  Var- 
ney,  Miss  Appleby's  secretary." 


8  ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Ricky  held  out  his  hand.  "I  am  delighted," 
said  he.  "I  am  Ricky  Crane." 

Miss  Varney  drew  a  note-book,  bound  in 
Russian  leather  with  a  small  pencil  attached  to 
it  by  a  fine  gold  chain,  from  a  very  business- 
like, buttoned  pocket  just  over  her  hip,  and 
hastily  ran  through  it,  her  delicate  brows 
puckering  before  the  intricacies  of  business. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  she,  at  last,  her  search  re- 
warded, tapping  her  red  lips  with  the  bit  of 
pencil  and  conning  the  page  before  her,  "oh, 
yes,  Mr.  Ricardo  Crane,  first  husband  of  Elea- 
nor Me  Vane  Drake,  daughter  of  Mrs.  Alison 
Drake  Fisher  Parker,  by  her  first  husband, 
Amos  Markham  Drake." 

"That  is  me,"  admitted  Ricky.  "Have  you 
got  us  all  down  there?" 

"Unto  the  third  and  fourth  divorce,"  ex- 
plained Miss  Varney,  closing  the  book  and  slip- 
ping it  back  into  her  pocket.  "You  see  I  had 
to  have  some  kind  of  help.  Miss  Appleby  gave 
me  a  list  of  her  relatives  and  told  me  to  write 
to  them  and  see  that  they  all  came.  But  the 
list  was  several  years  old,  and  I  found  that  all 
of  your  names  had  changed.  So  I  got  a  Who's 


THE  FIRST  ARRIVALS  9 

Who  and  a  social  register  and  looked  you  all 
up  and  then  made  out  this  list  for  my  own 
benefit." 

"I  see.    But  why  the  pencil?" 

"I  have  to  change  the  list  so  frequently.  Just 
this  morning  I  heard  that  Stephen  Mayhew  is 
married  again  and  the  last,  or  the  late  Mrs. 
Mayhew  is  now  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels." 

"I  see,  the  complexities  of  modern  life,"  sug- 
gested Ricky. 

Miss  Varney  opened  her  sweet  lips  to  say 
something,  then  suddenly  changed  her  mind,  to 
the  enraptured  Ricky's  disappointment,  and 
turning,  led  the  way  down  the  hall  to  the  wide 
stairs  at  the  farther  end.  She  stopped  at  their 
foot  and  tapped  a  Chinese  gong  that  hung 
just  above  the  heavily  carved  mahogany  newel 
post,  then  she  turned  to  Ricky  who  had  fol- 
lowed her. 

"Miss  Appleby  does  not  like  electric  bells," 
half  in  explanation,  half  for  the  sake  of  saying 
something  to  ease  the  unwonted  embarrass- 
ment she  felt  in  this  young  man's  company,  an 
embarrassment  unusual  and  entirely  unsecre- 
tarial. 


LO         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Yes,"  said  Ricky  gently,  looking  again  into 
the  depths  of  her  pretty  eyes.  "What  does  she 
like?" 

Miss  Varney's  glance  grew  cold,  and  Ricky 
stammered  forth  an  apology.  "You  see  for  the 
last  two  years,  ever  since  I  have  been  married 
to  Eleanor,  I  have  heard  constantly  of  this 
great-aunt  but  only  of  what  she  does  not  like, 
never  of  what  she  does." 

Miss  Varney  softened  in  quick  sympathy. 
"One  can  like  so  few  things,  that  one  grows  to 
like  nothing,"  said  she,  sagely  if  a  trifle  am- 
biguously, and  with  just  the  faintest  sigh, 
barely  audible  in  the  big  cool  hall. 

A  short  pause  followed,  during  which  Ricky 
strove  to  think  of  something  brilliant  to  say  but 
could  not.  Miss  Varney  was  again  the  first  to 
speak. 

"You  are  the  first  arrivals,"  said  she,  and 
smiled  at  him  once  more  with  the  distant 
hauteur  of  the  paid  secretary  who  scorned  to 
forget  herself  and  the  position  she  holds  in  the 
family. 

"Is — er — er — is  she  very  far  gone?"  stam- 


THE  FIRST  ARRIVALS  11 

mered  Ricky,  dismayed  by  the  girl's  pretty 
dignity. 

Miss  Varney  shook  her  head  with  a  merry 
little  laugh,  which  again  made  a  friend  and 
equal  of  Ricky.  "No,  indeed.  She  is  generally 
in  very  good  health  for  one  so  old.  To-day  she 
has  had  a  slight  attack  of  her  'trouble/  but  it 
will  pass.  She  has  asked  you  all  to  visit  her 
because  she  realizes  that  at  her  age  anything 
is  apt  to  happen  and  happen  quite  suddenly 
and  she  does  not  want  to  leave  behind  her  any 
bitterness  or  misunderstanding.  At  the  end  of 
the  week  when  she  has  met  you  all  and  made 
your  acquaintance  again,  as  it  were,  she  will 
have  made  up  her  mind  to  whom  she  wishes  to 
leave  her  money.  On  the  last  day  she  will  an- 
nounce whom  she  has  decided  to  make  her  heir, 
and  if  any  of  the  others  feel  that  they  have  a 
grievance,  they  can  tell  her  so  and  'have  it  out/ 
She  wants  to  leave  nothing  but  peace  behind 
and  the  feeling  that  she  has  done  fairly  by  all." 

"By  jove,"  said  Ricky.  "I  suppose  the  in- 
laws  stand  no  show?" 

"Oh,  there  will  be  enough  for  all,"  smiled 


12         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Miss  Varney.  "Miss  Appleby  is  so  fond  of  the 
factory  and  the  old  house  that  she  is  going  to 
leave  the  bulk  of  the  estate  to  one  of  you  so 
that  it  may  not  be  dissolved,  but  she  has  a  great 
deal  besides  to  distribute.  She  is  very  rich,  you 
know." 

"Vulgarly  so,"  said  Ricky,  in  the  parlance  of 
the  times. 

"Wealth  is  not  vulgar,"  protested  Miss 
Varney  with  the  sweet  reasonableness  that  had 
appealed  to  Ricky  from  the  first  as  distinguish- 
ing her  from  the  other  self-supporting  women 
he  had  met.  "Not  even  the  greatest.  Wealth 
affords  the  very  best  means  of  becoming  re- 
fined and  gentle  and  cultured.  We  all  want 
wealth.  It  is  impossible  that  we  all  are  so 
vulgar  as  to  want  that  which  is  vulgar." 

"By  jove,"  said  Ricky. 

A  stout  elderly  woman,  with  a  gentle  face 
showing  gentle  blood,  dressed  in  heavy  black 
silk,  with  rare  old  lace  at  neck  and  wrists,  ap- 
peared at  the  bend  in  the  wide  stairs  and  came 
slowly  down  toward  them. 

"Mrs.  Mainwaring,"  said  Miss  Varney,  smil- 
ing up  at  the  lady's  approach,  "this  is  Mr. 


THE  FIRST  ARRIVALS  13 

Crane.  Mrs.  Mainwaring  is  Miss  Appleby's 
housekeeper." 

"Howdy-do,"  said  Ricky. 

Miss  Varney  smiled  and  bowed,  and  turning, 
left  Ricky  dismayed  less  he  be  ushered  at  once 
and  unprotected  into  the  presence  of  the  dead 
and  dying  in  the  care  of  the  housekeeper. 


CHAPTER  II 
NELLY  AND  THE  SOCIALIST 

44TTOWDY-DO." 

J.  J.  Nelly  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps  and 
smiled  down  on  the  kneeling  Reuben  Ruben- 
stein. 

Reuben  grunted.  Instinctively  he  felt  like 
touching  his  hat  but  restrained  himself.  He 
was  as  poor  as  she  was  rich,  but  it  was  no 
fault  of  his  any  more  than  it  was  worth  of 
hers,  and  yet  he  felt  a  sneaking  awe  of  her  as 
of  one  from  a  different  planet.  She  had  power 
and  he  had  none,  and  power  is  always  awe-in- 
spiring. Her  daintiness,  her  exquisite  raiment 
enwrapped  her  in  a  rarified  atmosphere  far 
above  that  of  common  mortals  who  worked  for 
their  bread  and  trusted  to  God  for  their 
clothes. 

"Are  you  an  anarchist?"  she  asked,  descend- 
14 


NELLY  AND  THE  SOCIALIST        15 

ing  a  step  and  disclosing  a  glimpse  of  slim 
ankles  and  silk  stockings  above  her  low  buckled 
shoes. 

"I  am  a  Socialist,"  said  Reuben  coldly,  sit- 
ting back  on  his  heals  and  pushing  his  hat 
from  his  heated  brow. 

"Oh!"  Nelly  was  clearly  disappointed.  An 
anarchist  with  bombs  and  bowie  knives  would 
have  been  particularly  pleasing  at  this  time 
when  she  foresaw  nothing  but  a  week  of  bore- 
dom in  her  great-aunt's  stately  mansion.  A  So- 
cialist was  only  a  defeated  politician  as  Ricky 
had  once  told  her.  She  puckered  her  delicate 
brows  and  decided  to  return  to  the  house,  but 
the  fourth  assistant  gardener  had  a  pleasant 
boyish  face,  eager  and  bright,  though  his  eyes 
were  gloomy ;  besides,  the  sunshine  on  the  mar- 
ble steps  was  warm  and  sweet.  So  Nelly  sat 
down  on  the  lowest  step  and  for  the  sake  of 
talking  began  to  talk  to  the  fourth  assistant 
gardener. 

"A  Socialist  believes  everybody  owns  every- 
thing, doesn't  he?"  said  she. 

"Ought  to  but  don't,"  growled  Reuben,  sur- 
prised that  she  should  talk  to  him  and  deter- 


16         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

mined  not  to  go  back  on  his  beliefs.  "Who 
makes  you  folks  rich,  but  us,  huh?" 

"Mama's  alimony  makes  her  rich,"  said 
Nelly,  striving  to  be  worthy  of  a  political  dis- 
cussion and  feeling  a  bit  excited  at  this  unex- 
pected turn  in  the  conversation.  She  had 
planned  to  question,  not  be  questioned. 

Reuben  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  brought 
to  attention  by  the  personal  side  of  the  problem. 
He  glanced  away  nervously,  and  caught  sight 
of  the  smoke  of  the  button  factory  drifting 
above  the  roofs  of  the  distant  town  which  Miss 
Appleby*s  father  had  founded  and  from  whence 
the  Appleby  millions  had  poured  forth  in  as 
steady  a  stream  as  the  buttons.  He  waved  a 
grimy  hand  toward  the  smoke,  feeling  himself 
on  firm  ground  once  more. 

"Who  makes  the  buttons  in  those  factories?" 
he  demanded. 

"The  machinery,"  said  Nelly,  pleased  with 
her  ability  to  argue.  If  she  had  known  political 
science  was  so  easy,  she  would  have  taken  an 
interest  in  woman's  suffrage. 

"Who  makes  the  machinery  go?"  demanded 
Reuben,  not  to  be  turned  aside. 


NELLY  AND  THE  SOCIALIST        17 

"Electricity,"  said  Nelly  and  beamed  at  him. 
"Or  maybe,"  she  added  dubiously,  "or  maybe 
it  is  water.  I  have  forgotten  whether  or  not 
there  is  a  stream  through  the  town." 

"There  ain't,"  said  Reuben  shortly.  "It's 
'lectricity."  He  paused.  There  seemed  noth- 
ing further  to  say.  Nelly  always  put  a  period 
to  every  discussion.  Reuben  looked  at  the  dis- 
abled lawn-mower  a  moment,  picked  up  the 
monkey-wrench,  and  then  turned  again  to  the 
girl,  who  was  watching  him  with  expectant 
eyes,  for  as  far  as  she  was  concerned  the  argu- 
ment had  just  begun. 

"Water,  'lectricity  and  machinery  wouldn't 
be  no  good,  if  it  wasn't  for  us  folks  who  work," 
he  explained  patiently.  "Those  buttons  make 
Miss  Appleby's  wealth,  but  we  make  the  but- 
tons. But  do  we  get  any  of  the  wealth  we 
make?  I  guess  not." 

"Doesn't  great-aunt  ever  pay  you?" 

"We  get  wages,  six  dollars  a  week  to  begin 
with." 

"Well  then,  that's  all  right."  Nelly  was  re- 
lieved. "I  thought  maybe  she  never  paid  you. 
Once  my  second  father  forgot  mama's  ali- 


18         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

mony  and  we  couldn't  pay  the  servants  for  two 
months.  It  was  quite  unfortunate — for 
mama.  Did  you  ever  work  in  the  factory?" 

"Yes.  I  hurt  my  hand  in  the  machinery  and 
was  laid  up.  When  it  got  so  I  could  draw  the 
insurance  no  more,  my  hand  was  still  too  weak 
to  do  the  work  in  the  factory  I  was  doing  and 
Miss  Appleby  took  me  on  here  as  the  fourth 
assistant  gardener  until  my  hand  gets  well 
again." 

"That  was  kind  in  her—" 

"Kind  ?"  Reuben's  dark  face  flamed  angrily, 
filling  Nelly  with  regret  that  he  wasn't  an 
anarchist.  Such  a  burst  of  passion  was  wasted 
in  a  mere  Socialist  "Kind?  I  hurt  my  hand, 
disabled  myself  making  her  rich  and  she  sits  up 
there  in  that  big  house,  with  servants  to  wait 
on  her,  with  automobiles  and  carriages,  and  no 
worry  and  no  work,  and  me,  me,  y'understand, 
who  makes  her  wealth,  who  work  so  she  can 
loaf,  me  she  condescends  to  give  five  per  and 
found  to." 

"I  thought  her  father  made  her  money,"  said 
Nelly,  frankly  surprised.  "He  had  a  little 
money  and  more  nerve,  my  first  father  says, 


NELLY  AND  THE  SOCIALIST        19 

and  he  used  all  the  money  to  build  the  original 
small  factory  and  all  the  nerve  to  borrow  more 
money  and  sign  notes  and  go  out  and  get  orders 
and  compete  with  others  who  had  been  making 
buttons  for  years.  This  is  what  my  first  father 
says." 

"He  says  wrong,"  snapped  Reuben.  "He 
may  have  put  all  his  money  into  it,  but  he  had 
money  to  put  in ;  none  of  us  have  any  money." 

"He  didn't  have  any  either,  when  he  was 
young,"  said  Nelly.  "He  was  like  you,  a  gar- 
dener, but  he  had  grit,  my  first  father  says,  and 
sense  enough  to  hold  his  tongue  and  work  and 
save.  My  first  father  says  no  talking  jackass 
ever  yet  made  anything  or  got  anywhere,  except 
in  a  side-show  as  a  freak." 

Reuben  discreetly  dropped  the  subject  of  the 
great-grandfather  who  had  grit  and  returned 
to  the  old  one  of  the  factory.  "Every  day,  from 
eight  in  the  morning  until  six  at  night,  we  work 
hard,  turning  out  buttons — " 

"They  are  beautiful  buttons,"  cried  Nelly, 
glad  of  the  chance  to  praise  this  youth  whose 
lean  dark  face  appealed  so  strongly  to  her. 
"Great-aunt  sends  us  all  samples.  See  ?  I  have 


20         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

some  on  this  frock."  She  showed  him  a  score 
of  huge  buttons  on  her  baggy  coat. 

Reuben  glanced  at  the  buttons  and  then  up- 
ward at  the  pretty  flushed  face,  the  full  red 
mouth  and  the  rather  weak  chin.  The  girl's 
eyes  were  deep  blue,  her  light  hair  was  ar- 
ranged fascinatingly  around  her  ears  and  low 
on  her  forehead.  Everything  about  her 
breathed  daintiness,  refinement,  something 
foreign  to  the  fourth  assistant  gardener.  He 
noticed  that  she  had  only  one  dimple  which 
came  and  went  rapidly  with  every  changing 
expression  of  her  smiling  face.  Reuben  forgot 
for  the  moment  the  subject  of  buttons  and 
caught  himself  looking  for  the  companion 
dimple  in  the  other  cheek. 

"Mama  says  she  is  thankful  of  course  for 
buttons,  but  she  does  wish  it  were  real  estate," 
continued  Nelly,  with  a  smile  that  revealed 
only  one  dimple. 

"Yes,"  sneered  Reuben,  brought  back  to  earth 
— and  sneering  to  drown  the  sneaking  subser- 
vience he  felt,  the  ridiculous,  humiliating  ela- 
tion in  the  secret  heart  of  him  that  this  dainty 
being,  his  employer's  niece,  was  chatting  with 


NELLY  AND  THE  SOCIALIST        21 

him  as  though  they  were  equals.  But  he  was 
as  good  as  she.  Why  should  she  not  talk  with 
him  ?  "Yes,  they're  pretty  buttons,  but  the  dol- 
lars they  bring  in  are  prettier  and  we  don't  see 
none  of  them,  we  don't,  though  we  make  the 
buttons." 

"Neither  do  we,"  said  Nelly,  missing  the 
point  of  the  argument  in  a  charming  and  dis- 
tracting sympathy.  "I  guess  Great-aunt  Apple- 
by  is  the  only  one  who  does." 

"And  what  right  has  she  to  them?"  de- 
manded Reuben,  who  had  lost  the  thread  of  the 
discussion  in  a  hopeless  maze  of  irrelevancies. 

"She  owns  them,"  explained  Nelly  sweetly, 
once  more  putting  a  period  to  the  conversation. 

"I  can't  make  you  see,"  returned  Reuben 
gently.  For  once  his  eloquence,  which  had 
swayed  his  fellow  workers  more  than  once  by 
it's  rushing  torrent,  was  silenced.  "But  it  is 
unfair,  you  to  have  so  much  and  we  so  little — " 

"Oh,  I  think  you  have  a  lot,"  cried  the  girl 
who  was  thoroughly  enjoying  herself.  This 
was  what  Maude  always  did,  slum  work,  poli- 
tical things  in  the  dark  haunts  of  the  Bowery 
among  Italians  and  foreigners  and  poor 


22         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

people,  and  Maude  always  looked  down  on  her 
for  not  doing  likewise. 

"What  have  I  got?"  demanded  Reuben, 
standing  upright  before  her  in  his  work-worn 
clothes,  his  small  hat  pushed  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  his  finely  cut,  Jewish  face  flushed,  his 
dark  eyes  looking  down  into  hers,  angrily,  but 
withal  amused,  as  at  the  prattle  of  a  child.  He 
was  distinctly  good  to  look  at,  the  sheer  phys- 
ical grace  compelling  admiration  whether  or 
no. 

"Oh,"  cried  Nelly,  "you  have  perfectly 
splendid  good  looks !" 

There  was  another  blank  silence.  The  sun 
bathed  them  tenderly.  The  air  was  sweet  with 
lilac  fragrance  and  in  a  near-by  chestnut  tree, 
a  small  bird  chirped  shrilly.  Reuben  wondered 
vaguely  if  he  were  going  mad.  The  mere  fact 
that  he,  the  fourth  assistant  gardener,  and  the 
wealthy  Miss  Appleby's  grand-niece  were  con- 
versing in  apparent  equality  on  the  great  lady's 
front  stoop  was  cause  enough  in  itself  to  make 
him  question  his  sanity,  let  alone  the  erratic 
course  the  conversation  had  taken.  Fourth 
assistant  gardeners  had  never  before  attracted 


NELLY  AND  THE  SOCIALIST        23 

as  much  attention  from  the  family  as  the  wis- 
taria growing  in  cultured  dignity  over  the  por- 
tico. He  looked  down  on  the  small  flat  hat, 
knocked  "galley  west"  to  his  masculine  eye,  at 
the  sweet  flushed  face  beneath,  at  the  dainty 
dress  and  the  plumb  gold  mesh  bag  reposing  on 
the  narrow  lap  while  the  girl  rested  her  chin  in 
her  hands  and  stared  up  at  him.  In  spite  of 
himself  and  his  grim  determination,  he  smiled, 
his  lean  face  softening  into  an  expression  of 
gentleness  entirely  foreign  to  it.  For  a  moment 
he  did  not  know  what  to  reply,  then  suddenly 
he  broke  forth,  his  wonder  uppermost. 

"What  are  you  talking  to  me  like  this  for?" 
"Is — er — am   I   impudent?"     She  had   not 
caught   his   meaning   and   her   delicate   face 
flushed  a  rosy  red. 

"No,  but  I  am  only  the  fourth  assistant 
gardener.  Why  do  you  notice  me  even?" 

"Oh!"  She  was  relieved.  The  flush  died 
from  her  cheeks  and  she  nodded  at  him. 
"Maude  does  it,  you  know.  Nowadays,  it  is  all 
the  thing." 

"What  is  all  the  'thing'?" 
"Talking  to  the  'people,' "  said  she. 


24         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Aren't  you  rich  'people'?" 

"No,  we  are  the  oppressors." 

"Not  all  of  you,"  contradicted  Reuben  hastily, 
and  then  flushed  at  this  base  betrayal  of  his 
class.  But  the  idea  of  this  slim  young  thing, 
soft,  childish,  simple,  being  an  "oppressor"  was 
absurd.  She  nodded  firmly. 

"We  all  are,  we  the  'idle  rich/  "  she  insisted. 
"Though  how  we  can  be  'idle*  and  yet  'oppres- 
sors' I  don't  see." 

Reuben  preferred  to  waive  any  further  dis- 
cussion of  any  kind,  not  that  he  disliked  opposi- 
tion in  an  argument.  It  indeed  flamed  the  fire 
of  his  eloquence  to  white  heat  in  ordinary 
cases,  but  this  was  no  ordinary  case.  An  argu- 
ment with  Nelly  was  as  impossible  as  one  with 
the  Sphinx.  In  neither  case,  could  one  arrive 
at  any  conclusion,  save  possibly  an  insane 
asylum. 

"Who's  Maude?"  he  asked. 

"My  cousin.  She  always  does  this,  lectures 
to  immigrants  and  talks  a  lot  with  the  'down- 
trodden' and  others  who  won't  work.  She  is  a 
feminist,  you  know." 

"What  are  you?"  asked  Reuben,  amused. 


NELLY  AND  THE  SOCIALIST        25 

"I'm  a  female." 

Reuben  laughed,  his  gloomy  eyes  twinkling. 
"What's  the  difference?" 

"The  first  are  strong-minded.  They  talk  a 
lot  but  don't  mean  much  of  it.  Females  are 
weak-minded,  but  mean  the  little  they  say.  But 
do  sit  down.  We  can  talk  so  much  better." 

"I  have  to  work,"  sneered  Reuben,  once  more 
sullen.  "I  belong  to  the  working  class." 

"You  said  you  belonged  to  the  talking  class," 
objected  Nel. 

"Talking  class?"  stammered  Reuben,  once 
more  all  at  sea. 

"Socialists,  you  know,  and  anarchists  and  I 
Won't  Work  people-" 

"Who  are  the  I  Won't  Work  people?"  asked 
Reuben,  feeling  incapable  of  refuting  anything 
she  might  say. 

"The  I.  W.  W." 

"They  work." 

"No  one  ever  hears  of  it." 

"Well,  they  work,"  insisted  Reuben.  He 
glanced  across  the  lawn  to  the  distant  gates 
where  the  whir  of  a  motor  heralded  the  ap- 
proach of  further  oppressors.  He  frowned, 


26         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

then,  picking  up  the  handle  of  the  lawn- 
mower,  turned  again  to  the  girl.  "You  do  not 
understand.  There  is  going  to  be  a  big  meet- 
ing to-night  in  Maynard  Square  and  there  will 
be  a  lot  of  good  speakers.  Why  don't  you  come 
and  hear  what  they  say?  You  can  motor  down 
and  sit  in  the  car  all  the  time." 

"I  am  afraid  they  would  be  ma.d  because  I 
have  a  car  and  they  have  none,"  demurred 
Nelly. 

"Oh,  we  aren't  mad  for  that  reason,"  pro- 
tested Reuben.  "We  aren't  really  mad.  It's 
not  that." 

"Jealous?"  suggested  Nel. 

"No,  no." 

"What  then?" 

Again  Reuben  waived  argument.  "Come  and 
see,"  said  he. 

"Thank  you,  I  will.  I  would  like  to.  I  have 
always  wanted  to  be  a  feminist." 

Reuben  started  to  say  something,  thought 
better  of  it,  and  touching  his  hat,  walked  away 
as  a  second  motor-car,  a  limousine,  rolled 
smoothly  up  to  the  steps  bringing  more  ins  and 
in-laws. 


CHAPTER   III 

FEMALES  AND  FEMINISTS 

NELLY  sat  still  in  the  sunshine  and  dream- 
ily watched  a  motor-car  approach  and 
stop  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  Hardly  had  this 
limousine  come  to  a  -standstill  when  a  smart 
red  runabout  drew  up  behind  it.  The  smaller 
car  was  driven  by  a  young  woman.  A  fat 
good-natured  youth  sat  in  the  seat  beside  her 
and  in  the  rumble  behind  was  a  chauffeur.  The 
driver  called  gaily  to  Nelly  and  waved  a  gaunt- 
leted  hand. 

A  round  little  woman  of  forty,  looking  thirty, 
alighted  from  the  limousine  and  nodded  pleas- 
antly to  Nel,  then  smiled  as  she  glanced  at 
the  red  car  behind. 

"Hullo,  Maudie.    Hullo,  Tom." 

"Hullo,"  answered  the  girl  in  a  cool  crisp 
young  voice.  "Got  the  youngsters  with  you?" 

"Here  they  are,"  beamed  the  round  little 
woman  and  turned  to  the  limousine  to  help  a 

27 


28         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

capped  and  aproned  nurse  assist  three  rosy 
children  to  alight. 

"Have  you  been  here  long,  Nelly  ?"  she  asked 
as  she  held  the  hand  of  a  fat  little  toddler  of 
three  while  he  scrambled  up  the  marble  steps. 

"About  an  hour,"  replied  Nel,  drawing  the 
child  to  her  and  kissing  the  fat  warm  little 
cheek  which  he  had  promptly  presented  for  the 
salute  he  saw  coming.  "Hullo,  Toots — baby 
boy." 

"I  never  allow  any  one  to  kiss  him  on  the 
mouth,"  explained  his  mother,  straightening 
his  hat  with  unconscious  pride.  "Microbes, 
you  know.  I  have  taught  all  of  them  to  turn 
their  cheeks,  as  it  says  in  the  Bible." 

The  empty  limousine  disappeared  around  the 
house  and  the  smart  red  runabout  took  its 
place,  Maudie  bringing  the  car  to  a  stop  with 
the  skill  of  a  professional.  She  drew  off  her 
gloves,  still  seated  in  the  car.  The  chauffeur 
leaped  down  and  the  man  beside  her  alighted 
and  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  She  waved  the 
proffered  help  aside  and  stepped  forth,  speak- 
ing to  the  chauffeur. 

"Bains,  see  what  is  the  matter  with  the  igni- 


FEMALES  AND  FEMINISTS          29 

tion,"  she  ordered  in  the  short  crisp  tones  of 
her  commanding  young  voice,  a  bit  curt,  like 
an  army  captain  addressing  a  private,  abso- 
lutely impersonal,  unsexual. 

Tommy  mounted  the  steps,  leaving  her  issu- 
ing orders  and  sat  down  beside  Nelly  in  the 
sunshine. 

"Hullo,  Nel.    Where's  Ricky?"  he  asked. 

"In  the  house,"  said  Nelly.  "He's  quite  up- 
set, because  he's  so  afraid  of  sick  people." 

"By  jove,  I  don't  blame  him.  Why  do  you 
think  the  old  girl  wants  to  see  us  ?" 

"Auntie  isn't  really  sick,  is  she?"  asked  round 
little  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels,  lifting  Toots  up  the 
last  step  to  the  terrace  and  glancing  back  at 
Nelly  as  she  frankly  panted  for  breath. 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  returned  Nel. 

"Why  do  you  think  she  has  asked  us  here?" 
queried  Tommy  again,  used  to  having  his  ques- 
tions go  unanswered  unless  repeated.  He 
pushed  his  hat  back  and  watched  his  wife, 
bending  over  the  open  hood  of  the  machine  as 
she  pointed  out  some  fault  to  the  trim  young 
chauffeur. 

"To  pick  out  the  best-looking  one  of  us  for 


30         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

her  heir,"  returned  Nelly,  as  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  the  shy  little  girl  the  nurse  was  leading 
up  the  steps.  "Isn't  she  pretty,  Tommy?" 

"She  would  certainly  get  the  cash  if  it  de- 
pended on  looks,"  agreed  Tommy. 

The  screen  door  behind  them  opened  and 
Miss  Varney,  cool  and  white,  came  out  into  the 
shelter  of  the  gaily  striped  awning. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  she,  and  looked 
prettily  from  one  to  the  other. 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  sailed  forward,  her 
right  hand  out,  the  other  firmly  grasping  Toots' 
fat  little  fist.  "How  do  you  do,  my  dear?  I 
am  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels." 

"I  am  Miss  Varney,  Miss  Appleby's  secre- 
tary," replied  Miss  Varney. 

They  shook  hands  and  Miss  Varney  drew 
forth  the  red  leather  book  with  the  pencil  at- 
tached. "Excuse  me,"  she  begged,  with  a  dep- 
recating apology  in  her  smiling  eyes.  "There 
are  so  many  of  you,  I  have  put  you  all  down 
here.  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels,"  she  tapped  her 
red  lips  and  puckered  her  delicate  brows  as  she 
quickly  read  her  memorandum  to  herself: 


FEMALES  AND  FEMINISTS          31 

"Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels,  just  divorced  from 
Sydney  Mayhew,  one  child,  Sydney  Mayhew, 
Junior." 

"And  this  is  little  Sydney?"  she  asked  aloud, 
slipping  the  book  into  her  pocket  and  kneeling 
before  the  white-clad  youngster.  "Isn't  he 
dear?" 

"I  think  he  resembles  the  Applebys,"  de- 
clared his  mother.  "Don't  you,  Miss  Varney?" 

"I  do  indeed,"  agreed  Miss  Varney,  who  was 
proficient  in  tact  if  nothing  else. 

The  nurse  with  a  child  by  each  hand  ap- 
proached and  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  turned  to 
them  with  all  the  pride  of  maternity. 

"This,"  said  she,  drawing  one  of  the  little 
girls  forward,  "this  is  Lysbeth." 

"Mayhew?"  questioned  Miss  Varney,  taking 
the  hand  the  little  girl  so  prettily  extended  for 
all  her  shyness. 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  smiled.  "No.  She  is 
Lysbeth  Van  Tassel.  She  is  two  years  older 
than  Sydney — we  call  him  Toots.  I  was  mar- 
ried before  I  married  Mr.  Mayhew." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Varney,  turning  to  the 


32         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

second  little  girl,  a  child  hardly  more  than  two 
years  older  than  Lysbeth.  "And  what  is  your 
name,  dear?" 

"Helen,"  said  the  child,  shaking  hands  with 
childish  gravity. 

"Helen  Van  Tassel,"  smiled  Miss  Varney. 
"What  a  pretty  name." 

"Helen  McGath,"  explained  Mrs.  Von  Loben 
Sels.  "You  see  I  was  married  before  I  mar- 
ried Mr.  Van  Tassel." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Varney,  "yes,  indeed, 
quite  so.  But  little  Sydney  is  Miss  Appleby's 
grand-nephew,  is  that  it?" 

"Yes.  I  brought  the  girls  along,  because, 
though  of  course  they  are  no  relation  whatever 
to  auntie,  I  thought  she  would  like  to  see 
them." 

"She  would  indeed,"  agreed  the  ever  tactful 
Miss  Varney,  wondering  where  she  could  put 
the  two  extra,  unexpected  little  girls.  She  and 
Mrs.  Mainwaring  would  have  to  have  a  con- 
sultation before  she  could  show  them  to  their 
rooms.  "Won't  you  come  in?  You  must  all  be 
so  tired." 

Maude,  in  the  graceful,  voluminous  folds  of 


FEMALES  AND  FEMINISTS          33 

the  latest  thing  in  motor  cloaks,  strode  man- 
fully up  the  steps,  across  the  terrace  to  the 
group,  Tommy  following  her  and  Nelly 
languidly  bringing  up  in  the  rear. 

She  was  thinking  of  the  young  Jew,  of  his 
dark  eyes  and  thin,  eager,  nervous  face  and 
contrasting  him  with  the  fat,  good-natured 
well-dressed  Tommy.  Tommy  was  mostly 
clothes,  but  then  he  was  clean,  his  voice  was 
gentle  and  his  manners  faultless.  One  could 
talk  to  Tommy  as  to  Ricky,  with  no  need  of  ex- 
plaining one's  remarks,  with  no  rasping  of  the 
nerves  at  impossible  speeches.  One  could  go  to 
either  in  trouble  and  either  would  help  to  the 
best  of  his  ability  with  the  impersonal  gallantry 
of  his  gentle  blood.  It  was  good  to  belong  to 
such  men,  and  yet  the  Jew  was  fascinating  with 
the  fascination  of  the  uncultured  brute  which 
appeals  to  the  brute  in  all  of  us.  She  wished 
he  were  an  anarchist. 

Miss  Varney  turned  from  Mrs.  Von  Loben 
Sels  and  the  children  to  greet  Maude. 

"I  am  Miss  Varney — "  she  began. 

"Married?"  asked  Maude,  grasping  the  ex- 
tended hand  in  a  cool  firm  grip  like  a  business 


34         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

man  with  only  a  few  minutes  for  the  empty 
formalities  of  life. 

"Oh,  no,  Miss  Varney,"  emphasizing  the  Miss 
and  blushing  delightfully.  "I  have  had  no 
luck."  She  smiled  with  her  warm  full  lips  and 
glanced  merrily  at  Tommy. 

"No  luck,"  scoffed  Maude.  "The  men  have 
had  no  luck.  Any  woman  can  get  any  man  she 
wants  to.  We,  my  dear,  are  the  agents  of 
choice  for  the  betterment  of  the  human  race, 
not  the  men,  as  the  old-fashioned  idea  was." 

Miss  Varney,  unlike  Reuben  Rubenstein, 
never  disputed  any  one.  "Suppose  the  men  are 
all  so  nice  I  couldn't  choose?"  she  suggested. 

"Shut  your  eyes  and  grab,"  advised  Nelly. 

"It  amounts  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end," 
laughed  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels,  who  was  certainly 
well  qualified  to  express  an  opinion  on  the 
subject. 

"No,  indeed,"  cried  Maude  sharply,  laying 
down  the  law  at  once  and  promptly.  "Not  at 
all.  Eugenics — " 

"Eugene?"  questioned  Miss  Varney,  having 
misunderstood  and  reaching  hastily  for  the  red 
book.  So  far  there  were  no  Eugenes  in  it,  but 


FEMALES  AND  FEMINISTS          35 

if  Maude  were  divorced —  "Eugene?  Er — er 
— may  I  ask  the  last  name?" 

"Eugenics,  child,"  laughed  Maude.  "We 
women  must  be  careful  what  man  we  choose  for 
the  father  of  our  children." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Tommy.  "That 
night  when  you  proposed — " 

"Tommy,  the  idea !  I  did  not  propose.  You 
did." 

"All  married  men  say  the  same  thing,  my 
dear,"  comforted  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels.  "Don't 
let  that  fret  you." 

"He  doesn't  fret  me,"  scoffed  Maude.  "Why 
shouldn't  women  propose?" 

"Passive  attraction,"  suggested  Miss  Varney, 
a  bit  timidly.  One  became  timid  as  a  rule  when 
one  attempted  to  converse  with  Maude. 

"No  such  thing,"  growled  Tommy  in  a  low 
aside  which  his  wife  unfortunately  overheard. 
"Not  in  the  female  line,"  he  added  with  the  de- 
spair of  desperation  as  Maude  had  heard  his 
first  remark.  "We  are  the  pursued,  Miss  Var- 
ney. You  females  are  the  pursuers." 

"Females  are,  but  not  feminists,"  declared 
Maude. 


36         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Are  they  the  pursued?"  asked  Tommy 
meekly. 

"Not  at  all.  We  are  neither  pursued  nor  pur- 
suer. That  old  conception  of  the  relation  of 
the  sexes  is  ridiculous.  When  we  meet  the  per- 
fect man,  we  simply  marry  him." 

"Suppose  we  shouldn't  happen  to  be  a  per- 
fect woman  ?"  suggested  Nelly. 

"My  dear,  all  women  are  perfect,"  said 
Tommy  and  bowed  gallantly  to  the  four  pretty 
ones  before  him. 

"Miss  Varney,"  said  Maude,  proceeding  with 
her  belated  introduction,  "I  am  Miss  Brown." 

"Miss  Brown,"  stammered  Miss  Varney. 
"I— I— thought— er—" 

"That  I  was  Mrs.  Thomas  Lane,"  smiled  Miss 
Brown-  "No.  That  is  old-fashioned.  Why 
should  we  women  take  our  husbands'  names?" 

"Why  indeed,"  agreed  Miss  Varney,  not 
daring  to  say  anything  else. 

"A  most  foolish  thing  to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Von 
Loben  Sels,  "if  we  are  ashamed  of  them.  But 
then  why  take  them?" 

Maude  flushed.     "Not  at  all.     Shame  has 


FEMALES  AND  FEMINISTS          37 

nothing  to  do  with  it.  But  why,  what  reason 
is  there  in  me  calling  myself  Mrs.  Lane  any 
more  than  there  would  be  in  Tommy  calling 
himself  Mr.  Brown?" 

"For  the  sake  of  the  children,"  explained 
Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels,  with  a  wise  nod  of  her 
pretty  head.  "If  you  don't  tag  each  one  with 
his  father's  tag,  you'll  get  them  mixed  up,  my 
dear,  and  won't  be  sure,  if  one  should  come  in 
for  a  little  money  on  the  paternal  side,  to  whom 
it  goes." 

Maude  waved  aside  the  obvious  in  the  ex- 
ample of  the  three  children  gazing  at  her 
solemnly  from  the  shelter  of  the  nurse's  skirts 
and  returned  to  her  theory.  "That's  absurd, 
Lilla.  Have  women  so  little  personality  that 
they  haven't  even  a  permanent  name  they  can 
call  their  own?  Must  I  sink  myself  so  com- 
pletely in  my  husband  that  I  take  his  name? 
Why  should  I  not  take  his  personality  too  then, 
his  little  characteristics  and  mannerisms?  I 
am  an  individual  as  well  as  Tommy — " 

"I  know,  Maude,"  interrupted  Nel,  who  was 
fired  to  argue  by  her  recent  experience  with  the 


38         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

fourth  assistant  gardener,  "but  you  have  no 
right  to  the  name  of  Brown.  That  was  your 
father's  name — " 

"Why,  certainly,"  agreed  Maude,  turning  to 
Nel,  cool  and  erect,  her  head  thrown  up,  shoul- 
ders back,  hands  in  the  pockets  of  her  great 
coat,  feet  firmly  planted,  "why,  certainly — " 

"But  your  mother  shouldn't  have  taken  his 
name,"  explained  Nel. 

Maude  stared  a  moment,  faintly  puzzled  by 
the  new  outlook.  "Mother  was  a  Miss  Appleby 
before  she  married,"  said  she,  slowly,  a  vague 
gleam  coming  into  her  eyes. 

"Then  you  are  Miss  Appleby,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Von  Loben  Sels. 

"No,"  said  Nelly,  gently,  firmly,  unsparingly. 
"Her  mother  wasn't  a  Miss  Appleby.  That  was 
her  grandfather's  name  and  her  grandmother 
shouldn't  have  taken  his  name.  What  was  your 
grandmother's  name,  Maude?" 

"Peter,"  stammered  Maude,  her  superb  self- 
assurance  on  the  verge  of  tottering  to  its  ruin. 
"Miss  Peter." 

"But  that  was  her  father's  name,  so  she  had 
no  right  to  it,"  pressed  Nel,  determined  by  a 


FEMALES  AND  FEMINISTS          39 

force  stronger  than  herself  to  get  this  thing 
straightened  out.  "What  was  your  grand- 
mother's mother's  name?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  confessed  Maude,  the  color 
leaping  into  her  beautiful  cool  cheeks,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears.  "We  were  never  able  to 
trace  that  branch  back  any  further." 

"Then—"  began  Nelly,  half  fearful  at  the 
havoc  she  had  wrought  but  inspired  to  press 
the  subject  to  the  end. 

"Come,"  interrupted  Tommy,  with  sudden 
unexpected  boldness,  seizing  his  wife's  arm  and 
leading  her  firmly  but  gently  away. 


CHAPTER  IV 

VERA  MEETS  HER  FATHER 

BEFORE  evening,  nearly  the  entire  clan  of 
Appleby,  married,  divorced,  remarried, 
old  maids  and  elderly  lads,  children  by  steps, 
by  stages,  by  series,  had  arrived.  Miss  Varney 
was  prostrate  and  Appleby  House  was  full 
from  cellar  to  attic,  while  some  of  the  mascu- 
line members  flowed  over  into  the  manager's 
lodge  and  slept  in  the  billiard  room.  Miss 
Appleby  herself  did  not  appear  and  Miss 
Varney  explained  in  her  fluttering  little  way, 
the  red  leather  book  and  cabled  pencil  all 
aquiver  in  her  trembling  hands,  that  her 
mistress  had  never  dreamed  how  the  family 
had — er — grown  and  had  only  provided  for  the 
ones  she — er — er — not  remembered — er — but 
— er — er — knew  of,  as  one  might  say. 

"My  aunt  is  old-fashioned,"  said  Henry 
Appleby,  the  latest  arrival,  kindly  helping  her 
out,  his  mild  gray  eyes  resting  quietly  on  her 

40 


VERA  MEETS  HER  FATHER    41 

pretty  flushed  face.  "She  believes  that  one 
should  take  the  marriage  vows  seriously." 

"Yes,"  smiled  Miss  Varney,  "She  did  not 
take  into  consideration  the  divorces — " 

"If  we  can't  get  divorced,"  said  Freddy  Van 
Tuyl  gaily,  "why  get  married?'" 

"Don't,"  advised  Appleby.  "Divorce  is  man's 
one  hope  of  salvation  and  a  future  life." 

Vera  Van  Fleet  laughed  before  she  could 
check  herself.  All  her  life,  she  had  scorned  and 
unconsciously  despised  her  father  whom  she  did 
not  know  and  had  not  seen  since  she  was  a 
child  of  eight.  When  she  had  received  her 
great-aunt's  invitation  to  spend  a  week  at 
Appleby  House  and  be  looked  over  as  a  possible 
heir,  she  had  half  determined  not  to  accept  for 
fear  she  would  meet  her  father.  But  her 
mother  had  urged  her  to  go  and  had  promised 
to  come  herself.  So  Vera  had  postponed  a  con- 
templated trip  to  Reno,  and  all  aquiver  with 
loyalty  to  her  mother,  all  cold  anger  toward  her 
father,  had  come  to  her  great-aunt's.  She  had 
arrived  that  afternoon,  before  her  father,  and 
was  holding  court  on  the  side  porch  to  her  own 
delectation,  the  amusement  of  the  men  clustered 


42         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

around  her  and  the  angry  disgust  of  the  other 
women,  females  and  feminists,  suffragists  and 
antis. 

Vera  was  tall  and  thin  with  a  slouch 
that  was  all  the  rage  and  gave  the  impression 
at  first  glance  that  she  was  going  to  break  in 
two  in  the  middle  and  fall  in  a  mussy  heap  to 
the  floor.  Her  dress  was  a  sloppy  affair  of 
soft  silk,  apparently  thrown  on  in  the  dark  by 
a  blind  person  having  a  spasm  in  the  midst  of 
a  hurricane.  Her  hat,  slapped  up  on  one  side 
and  knocked  flat  on  top,  with  a  bunch  of 
trimming  protruding  from  under  the  brim  as 
though  flung  on  by  a  poor  shot  at  a  distance  of 
fifty  paces,  tottered  on  the  brink  of  sliding 
down  upon  her  nose.  Her  mouth  was  whimsi- 
cal and  soft,  with  the  curves  of  girlhood  still 
apparent ;  her  dark  eyes  laughed  in  frank  good 
fellowship  behind  the  drooping  lashes  of  the 
born  coquette,  for  Vera  was  a  coquette  from 
her  high  heels  to  her  lop-sided  hat.  She  had 
that  indefinable  charm  of  personality  which  is 
irresistible.  It  can  not  be  defined.  It  is  as 
elusive  as  the  air,  as  unexplainable  as  life,  as 
lasting  as  our  span  of  years.  Those  who  have 


VERA  MEETS  HER  FATHER    43 

it  not  can  never  acquire  it  no  matter  how  hard 
they  try.  Taking  Vera  feature  by  feature,  she 
could  not  claim  more  than  prettiness,  but  for 
all  that,  she  was  charming,  alluring,  irresist- 
ible. She  knew  her  own  charms  and  took  a 
properly  concealed  pleasure  in  them.  She 
pitied  other  girls,  more  beautiful,  but  far  less 
popular  than  she  and  sometimes  she  showed  it, 
and  sometimes  she  pretended  she  didn't.  She 
could  drive  a  man  to  drink  with  her  flippancy 
and  to  suicide  with  her  gentleness. 

The  side  veranda  was  delightfully  cool.  It 
overlooked  the  flower  garden  and  the  lawn, 
sloping  down  to  the  white  smooth  curve  of  the 
granite  wall  and  the  distant  street.  Vera 
glanced  over  the  green  sward  beneath  the  shade 
of  the  great  trees  and  yawned  quite  frankly 
before  her  attendant  swains. 

"Oh,  yum,"  said  she,  "what  wouldn't  you 
give  to  be  a  child  again?"  and  she  nodded  to- 
ward two  horrified  youngsters  crouched  in 
fright  and  wonder  above  a  half  dead  toad  on 
the  driveway  below  the  veranda. 

She  spoke  to  no  one  in  particular,  and  Maude, 
who  had  been  hanging  on  the  ragged  edge  of 


44         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

the  conversation  by  a  running  scatter  of  half- 
veiled  innuendoes,  answered. 

"Some  people  are  always  childish,"  said  she, 
just  a  trifle  too  sharply. 

Vera  turned  and  looked  at  her  out  of  coldly 
condescending  eyes.  "They  are,"  she  agreed 
sweetly.  "Quite  petty  all  the  time.  They  can 
never  seem  to  learn  to  conceal  their  feelings." 

That  did  for  Maude.  She  felt  Freddy's  eyes 
fixed  on  her  in  dislike  and  she  flushed  deeply 
and  pretended  to  yawn,  too,  before  she  strolled 
carelessly  away. 

"Such  a  cat,"  said  she  to  Mrs.  Von  Loben 
Sels  whom  she  came  upon  in  the  wide  hall,  just 
dressed  for  dinner  and  pausing  for  a  last  glance 
at  herself  in  the  last  mirror  in  the  hall. 

"Who?"  asked  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels,  not 
turning  from  the  glass,  but  nodding  to  Maude's 
reflection  in  it. 

"Vera,"  said  Maude.  "She  has  all  the  men 
dangling  after  her  and  gets  mad  if  another 
woman  speaks  to  one  of  them." 

"She's  daft  about  men,"  agreed  Mrs.  Von 
Loben  Sels,  putting  her  head  on  one  side  to 


VERA  MEETS  HER  FATHER    45 

catch  the  effect  of  her  new  coiffure  in  that 
position. 

"I  know  she  is  and  for  a  married  woman — " 

'Tiff,  Maude,  marriage  doesn't  count  any 
longer,"  laughed  Lilla  gaily.  "Eena,  meena, 
mina  moe,  catch  a  nigger  by  the  toe,  when  he 
hollers  let  him  go,  eena  meena,  mina,  moe; 
that's  as  binding  as  the  marriage  ceremony,  my 
dear." 

"I  know,  and  I  am  not  a  prude,  but  I  must 
say  that  Vera  Van  Fleet  carries  things  to  the 
extremes.  Where  is  her  husband?  Why  hasn't 
he  come  with  her?" 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  turned  from  the  mirror 
and  gathered  up  her  long  silk  draperies.  "Hus- 
bands," said  she,  "are  out  of  date.  I  haven't 
seen  one  for  years,  except  at  the  altar  for  a  few 
moments." 

"Then  what  right  have  women  to  marry?" 
demanded  Maude,  who  had  been  made  primi- 
tive again  by  Vera's  snub. 

"To  show  forlorn  spinsters  that  we  can  if  we 
want  to,"  laughed  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels.  "An 
unmarried  woman's  value  is  always  question- 


46         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

able,  like  an  unsold  bolt  of  goods  that  has  been 
on  the  shelf  for  years." 

"Men,"  sneered  Maude,  once  more  the  suf- 
fragette. 

"I  know,  child,"  soothed  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels, 
"but  sneer  as  we  may,  men  are  the  joy  of  exist- 
ence." 

She  nodded  with  gay  philosophy  and  strolled 
put. 

Vera  on  the  side  veranda  yawned  again. 
"Will  suffrage  prevent  us  females  from  being 
cats  to  one  another,  I  wonder?"  she  questioned, 
glancing  from  one  man  to  the  other. 

"It  will  make  you  all  cats,"  growled  Freddy 
Van  Tuyl.  "A  government  by  women  is  mushy 
sentimentality." 

"Fie,  fie."  Vera  shook  the  pancake  with 
dough  slopping  over  one  side  which  she  called 
a  hat,  at  him.  "In  loyalty  to  my  sex,  I  can  not 
agree  with  you." 

"In  loyalty  to  your  conscience?"  suggested 
Van  Tuyl. 

"In  loyalty  to  my  conscience,"  laughed  Vera, 
"we  will  drop  the  subject." 

It  was  then  that  Appleby  had  arrived,  a  tall 


VERA  MEETS  HER  FATHER    47 

elderly  man,  suit-case  in  hand.  He  saw  the 
animated  group  by  the  railing  and  hesitated  a 
moment  before  entering  the  house.  Tommy 
saw  him  at  the  same  moment  and  called  to  him. 

"Hullo,  Appleby.  Come  and  discuss  suffrage 
with  Vera.  She  says  in  loyalty  to  her  sex,  she 
must  defend  it." 

As  her  father  approached,  Vera  glanced  at 
him  curiously,  startled  by  the  sudden  meeting, 
though  she  had  known  that  he  would  come  and 
was  on  the  lookout  for  him.  A  flush  crept  into 
her  thin  cheeks  and  after  the  first  hasty 
glance,  she  looked  quickly  away,  her  pretty 
mouth  serious,  her  eyes  veiled.  Appleby  was 
tall  and  thin,  a  masculine  replica  of  herself  and 
she  recognized  the  father  she  had  not  seen  for 
years,  the  father  she  had  been  taught  uncon- 
sciously to  despise,  the  father  her  mother  had 
divorced  fourteen  years  ago  for  the  sake  of 
"the  children,"  Vera  and  Charlie.  Her  head 
swam  as  in  a  daze  and  her  hands  grew  suddenly 
cold  while  that  tingling  flush  still  burned  in  her 
face.  She  ^  wed  amicably,  but  did  not  hold  out 
her  hand. 

"I  am  not  quite  sure,"  said  she,  "whether  my 


48         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

conscience  is  female  or  feminist."  She  raised 
her  head  and  looked  coldly  into  Appleby's  face, 
though  her  warm  mouth  smiled  sweetly. 

Her  father's  eyes  met  hers,  full  and  straight, 
and  she  had  an  odd  sensation  of  sinking  into 
fathomless  depths  of  tenderness.  His  eyes,  like 
hers,  were  dark  and  merry  and  expressive.  She 
felt  a  choking  in  her  throat,  a  wild  desire  to 
lay  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  kiss  his  thin 
wrinkled  cheeks  and  call  him  "Dad."  Some- 
thing seemed  to  snap  in  her  brain  and  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  questioned  the  justice 
of  her  mother's  divorce.  Then  her  fierce  loyalty 
came  to  her  rescue  and  she  put  the  thought 
aside  angrily.  This  man  had  no  right  to  her 
slightest  tenderness.  She  looked  away,  flushed 
and  confused. 

"I  object  to  any  woman  having  a  conscience," 
declared  Appleby  in  Vera's  own  voice,  only 
deeper,  as  he  smiled  down  at  the  lop-sided  hat. 

Vera  laughed  in  spite  of  herself,  recognizing 
her  own  whimsical  foolishness,  which  her 
mother  had  never  been  able  to  understand. 

"What  should  we  have?"  she  questioned,  for- 
getting for  the  moment  that  she  disliked  him. 


VERA  MEETS  HER  FATHER    49 

"Nothing  above  the  heart,  but  a  pretty  face," 
said  Appleby.  The  men  laughed  agreement. 

"An  idle  brain  is  the  devil's  workshop," 
quoted  Vera  with  a  grave  shake  of  the  head. 

Appleby  agreed.  "But  you  see,  I  don't  want 
them  to  have  brains,"  said  he. 

"Women's  brains  are  men's  consciences,"  re- 
turned Vera,  vastly  amused. 

"Are  men's  troubles,"  contradicted  Appleby. 

"If  men  had  no  troubles,  they  would  become 
weak,"  declared  Vera,  glancing  at  her  father's 
long  thin  face,  with  the  deep-set  merry  eyes, 
the  wide  brow  of  the  scholar  and  the  mouth  so 
like  her  own,  humorous,  but  vacillating.  Her 
mother  had  always  said  that  he  was  weak,  a 
kindly  good-natured  man,  but  weak,  and  his 
mouth  confirmed  her  judgment. 

Miss  Varney  had  appeared  just  then  with 
her  pretty  apologies  for  Miss  Appleby's  absence 
and  the  overcrowded  condition  of  the  house. 
She  led  Appleby  away  and  Vera  slipped  up  to 
her  own  room  to  try  to  quiet  the  tumult  that 
seemed  to  be  ringing  in  her  head,  before  she 
dressed  for  dinner. 

Alone,  she  tried  to  think  clearly,  but  found 


50         ONLY  KELATIVES  INVITED 

that  she  could  not.  She  saw  her  father's  face, 
old  and  thin  and  gray,  and  so  amusingly  like 
her  own,  and  she  struggled  bravely  in  loyalty 
to  her  mother  against  the  rush  of  tenderness 
that  seemed  engulfing  her.  She  told  herself 
sternly  that  it  was  absurd  she  should  love  this 
man  whom  she  had  been  taught  to  scorn,  but 
the  telling  did  no  good.  She  loved  him,  she  was 
his,  bone  of  his  bone,  flesh  of  his  flesh,  and 
knowing  him  weak,  yet  she  loved  him.  It  was 
silly  to  love  so  suddenly.  She  frowned  at  the 
floor  and  thought  of  her  mother  and  of  what 
this  man  had  made  her  suffer,  and  yet  she  loved 
him.  He  was  hers,  but  more  blessed  still,  she 
was  his,  his  as  she  would  never  be  any  other 
man's,  though  she  married  a  thousand  times, 
his  in  a  relationship  pure  and  sweet  and  un- 
breakable. There  was  not  a  law  in  the  land 
that  could  make  her  not  his  child. 

"He  is  weak,"  she  thought,  "and  I  am  weak 
or  I  wouldn't  care  for  him  so  on  seeing  him  for 
the  first  time  after  all  these  years  when  I  have 
positively  hated  him  and  didn't  know  a  thing 
about  him.  Maybe  it's  because  I  hated  him 
without  knowing  him  that  I  change  so  now  I 


VERA  MEETS  HER  FATHER    51 

have  seen  him.     I  don't  know.     But  oh,  dad, 
I'm  your  daughter  all  right." 

She  was  not  quite  sure  that  he  recognized  in 
the  tall  young  matron  the  long-legged  skinny 
child  of  eight  as  he  had  last  seen  her.  He  had 
said  nothing  to  indicate  that  he  knew  her  and 
yet  he  must.  There  was  not  another  Vera  in 
the  family  and  he  would  know  her  by  that 
though  her  last  name  was  strange  to  him.  But 
even  if  he  was  ignorant  it  would  not  be  long, 
however,  before  he  knew  their  relationship, 
and  Vera  decided,  that  in  loyalty  to  her  mother 
she  must  avoid  him  as  much  as  possible.  To 
strengthen  the  fast  disappearing  partiality  for 
one  parent,  she  reiterated  over  and  over  her  old 
childish  scorn  for  the  other,  reminding  herself 
of  his  weaknesses  and  trying  to  forget  his 
fatherhood, 


CHAPTER  V 
AND  LEARNS  A  THING  OR  TWO 

DINNER,  when  Miss  Varney  had  explained 
that  Miss  Appleby  would  not  be  down 
that  evening  and  had  offered  the  old  lady's 
apologies,  was  a  jovial  meal.  A  spirit  of  hilari- 
ous curiosity  to  know  one's  kinfolks  pervaded 
all.  Vera  tried  to  slip  down-stairs  and  to  her 
place  at  the  table  without  meeting  her  father 
alone,  but  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  she  found 
him  standing  in  the  faint  light  from  the  stained 
glass  window,  evidently  waiting  for  her. 

"Hullo,  Vera,"  said  he. 

Vera  flushed  crimson  and  turned  instinctively 
to  escape,  but  she  slipped,  sprawling  on  the 
stairs  in  true  feminine  awkwardness  as  she 
clutched  at  her  skimpy  skirts  with  one  hand 
and  reached  wildly  for  her  father's  aid  with 
the  other.  He  drew  her  to  her  feet  and  she 
raised  agitated  hands  to  her  hair,  blushing  and 
smiling. 

52 


AND  LEARNS  A  THING  OR  TWO    53 

"So  you  knew  me,"  said  she,  looking  up  at 
him  as  he  stood  watching  her  in  masculine 
amusement  that  always  irritated  her  in  Sammy, 
as  lowering  to  her  self-respect,  a  barbarous 
relic  of  the  past  when  women  were  men's  play- 
things, but  now  pleased  her  in  this  man  of  her 
own  blood.  She  would,  indeed,  have  been 
ashamed  of  him  if  he  had  not  considered  him- 
self in  a  way  superior  to  her,  a  mere  woman. 
She  wanted  him  to  be  superior.  It  afforded  her 
a  chance  of  delightful  relaxation  in  which  she 
could  be  her  own  charming,  whimsical,  truly 
feminine  self,  hopelessly  contradictory  and 
illogical.  She  had  felt  it  incumbent  upon  her 
to  be  Sammy's  equal,  if  not  superior,  and 
superiority  is  a  terrible  strain  to  maintain. 

"So  you  knew  me,"  said  she,  and  dismissed 
any  loyalty  to  her  mother  in  the  overpowering 
curiosity  to  know  her  own  father  and  what 
manner  of  man  he  was. 

"Certainly,  I  knew  you,"  said  he  gravely. 
"It  is  a  wise  father  who  knows  his  own  child, 
nowadays.  Come  in  to  dinner.  We  can  talk 
afterward." 

He  led  her  to  the  table  and  seated  her,  and 


54         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

when  he  took  the  chair  beside  her  she  was  glad, 
though  for  the  moment  disgusted  with  herself 
because  she  was  glad.  Before  the  meal  ended 
she  was  aware  that  she  was  not  the  only  one 
filled  with  curiosity.  She  often  felt  him  watch- 
ing her  in  an  odd  sort  of  way  as  though  of  ap- 
praisal, of  ownership ;  a  way  in  which  no  man 
had  ever  regarded  her  before,  not  even  Sammy, 
for  Sammy  was  the  last  person  to  admit  he 
owned  his  wife,  the  first  to  acknowledge  quite 
frankly  that  she  owned  him,  soul,  name,  liberty 
and  pocketbook. 

When  dinner  was  over,  Appleby  boldly  took 
possession  of  her  and  led  her  out  into  the  lilac 
scented  night.  He  drew  her  into  a  corner  of 
the  porch  where  they  could  talk  undisturbed 
and  settled  her  comfortably  among  the  pillows 
of  the  hammock,  while  she  in  guilty  pleasure 
surrendered  herself  and  let  her  loyalty  to  her 
mother  go  in  whimsical  acknowledgment  of 
her  weakness.  Appleby  sat  down  beside  her 
and  drew  out  his  pipe. 

"Do  you  mind?"  he  asked,  hesitating  before 
putting  it  into  his  mouth  and  looking  at  her  in 
kindly  scrutiny. 


AND  LEARNS  A  THING  OR  TWO    55 

"No,"  said  Vera.  "I  smoke  myself  when  I 
feel  devilish  and  must  do  something  silly.  You 
know  I  have  no  baby  to  spank." 

Appleby  laughed.  "Why  not  have  a  baby?" 
he  suggested. 

"Horrors,  no,"  exclaimed  Vera.  "What 
would  I  do  with  one?" 

"Bring  it  up,"  said  Appleby. 

"It  would  probably  die  first,  and  I'm  sure  I 
should." 

"Who  is  your  husband,  Vera?"  asked 
Appleby. 

Vera  looked  at  him  in  sudden  tenderness. 
It  was  a  bit  pathetic  that  he  had  to  ask  such 
questions  of  his  own  child.  There  was  no  sense 
in  it.  Vera  wondered  angrily  how  he  could 
have  possibly  been  detrimental  to  the  well- 
being  of  either  her  brother  or  herself.  He 
looked  so  old  and'faded  and  alone  with  his  thin- 
ning hair  and  the  heavy  lines  under  his  eyes ;  a 
gentle  harmless  creature. 

"I  have  married  a  poor,  downtrodden  man," 
she  replied  in  a  sudden  burst  of  disgust  for 
herself  and  her  mother.  "But  don't,  for  heav- 
en's sake,  tell  him  I  said  so." 


56         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"No,"  promised  Appleby,  "I  won't.  What  is 
his  name?" 

"Sammy  Van  Fleet,"  said  Vera. 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Appleby  gravely,  his 
eyes  on  her  pretty  face. 

"Home,"  said  Vera  lightly.  She  glanced  at 
her  father  and  then  looked  quickly  away  again, 
her  eyes  falling  beneath  his  gaze,  suddenly 
abashed.  Truly,  she  was  his  child.  She  felt 
hopelessly  young,  and  silly  and  light,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  in  the  wrong,  in  doubt 
as  to  her  own  character.  She  plunged  into  a 
wild  explanation  that  explained  nothing.  "You 
see,  I  had  to  have  a  rest,  my  nerves — " 

Appleby  pulled  slowly  at  his  pipe,  took  it 
from  his  mouth  and  exhaled  a  great  cloud  of 
smoke.  "Women's  nerves,  child,  are  generally 
simple  selfishness." 

Vera  blushed  angrily  and  threw  up  her  head. 
"How  dare  you — " 

"Tush,  Vera,"  said  he,  frankly  unimpressed, 
looking  down  at  her  as  a  Newfoundland  at  a 
snapping  poodle,  in  amused  tolerance.  Vera 
felt  more  hopelessly  silly  and  childish  than  ever, 
but  still  struggled  to  defend  herself. 


AND  LEARNS  A  THING  OR  TWO    57T 

"You  do  not  realize,"  said  she  coldly,  "how 
my  time  is  occupied.  I  am  straining  every 
nerve  in  the  cause  of  suffrage." 

Appleby  roared.  "Marching?"  he  asked 
quizzically. 

"Miles,"  admitted  Vera,  and  laughed  in  spite 
of  herself.  "You  are  thoroughly  nasty, 
father,"  said  she,  and  edged  up  to  him  with  a 
new  feeling  of  delightful  companionship,  of 
the  enfolding  protection  of  a  person  strong  in 
a  way  where  she  was  weak. 

"How's  mother  and  Charlie?"  asked  Appleby. 
"I  am  ashamed  not  to  have  kept  better  track  of 
all  of  you." 

"Have  you  no  excuse?"  asked  Vera  gravely, 
in  her  turn. 

"No,"  replied  Appleby.  "I  should  have  done 
so." 

Vera  shook  her  head  sternly.  "You  should 
have  an  excuse,"  said  she.  "We  women  always 
have  an  excuse  for  everything  we  do.  You 
never  got  an  apology  from  a  woman  yet  with- 
out an  exonerating  excuse  attached  to  it,  so  it 
was  really  impossible  to  blame  her  in  the  first 
place." 


58         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"We  have  much  to  learn,"  said  Appleby. 

"You  have  indeed,"  agreed  Vera.  "Mother 
is  well.  She  married  again.  She  felt  it  her 
duty  to  do  so,"  the  girl  cried  hotly,  suddenly 
furious  with  herself  that  she  should  feel  com- 
pelled to  defend  her  mother  before  this  man. 

Appleby  nodded.    "She  was  great  on  duty." 

"And  you  weren't  great  enough,"  blazed 
Vera. 

"Quite  right,"  said  Appleby.  "Your  mother 
is  a  charming  woman.  Whom  did  she  marry 
and  are  there  any  youngsters?" 

"Two,  Marjory  and  Kenneth,  cunning  young- 
sters, but  little  demons.  Don't  talk  to  me  about 
angel  children.  Children  were  born  in  sin  and 
it  takes  the  wrong  side  of  a  brush,  vigorously 
applied,  to  take  it  out  of  them." 

Appleby  laughed.  "Your  mother  never 
spanked  you.  Reason — " 

"If  I  had  a  child,  I  would  reason  with  it  by 
the  aid  of  a  forcibly  applied  shingle,"  declared 
Vera.  "The  things  I  regret  most  in  my  life  are 
the  half  dozen  good  hard  spankings  I  should 
have  received  and  didn't." 

They  chatted  until  the  stars  came  out  one  by 


AND  LEARNS  A  THING  OR  TWO    59 

one  and  the  ever-careful  Mrs.  Mainwaring  be- 
gan to  see  that  the  lights  below  stairs  were  ex- 
tinguished and  the  doors  locked.  Then  they 
stole  softly  in,  crept  up-stairs,  and  whispered  a 
last  good  night  to  the  housekeeper  who  passed 
them  in  the  hall.  At  Vera's  door,  Appleby  drew 
his  daughter  to  him  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 
"Good  night,  dear,"  said  he.  "Sleep  well." 
For  one  moment  Vera  leaned  against  him, 
with  a  bitter  half  formed  regret  for  the  years 
that  she  had  not  known  him.  Then  she  kissed 
him,  in  an  odd  mixture  of  childish  humility  and 
womanly  dignity. 

"Good  night,  dad,"  she  whispered,  repeating 
the  playroom  formula  of  the  long  ago.  "Happy 
dreams,  sweet  dreams,  sleep  tight." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  FOURTH  ASSISTANT  GARDENER 

THE  automobile  drew  up  at  the  edge  of  the 
crowd  and  Nelly  instinctively  moved  closer 
to  her  husband  whom  she  had  persuaded  to  take 
her  to  the  meeting  to  which  Reuben  had  invited 
her. 

"Aren't  we  a  bit  too  near?"  she  whispered, 
not  to  be  overheard  by  any  of  those  standing 
on  the  curb  and  frankly  staring  at  the  great 
red  car.  "If  they  get  to  throwing  bombs — " 

"They  will  throw  them  straight  at  us,"  de- 
clared Ricky  cheerfully.  "Shall  we  go?"  al- 
ready bored. 

Nelly  glanced  at  the  dark  crowd,  pressing  up 
to  the  speaker,  who,  standing  on  a  barrel  at  the 
farther  side  of  the  walk,  was  clearly  seen 
against  the  bright  drug-store  window  behind 
him.  The  street  lamp  threw  a  faint  wavering 
light  over  those  in  its  immediate  vicinity,  leav- 
ing the  rest  of  the  gathering  in  more  complete 

60 


FOURTH  ASSISTANT  GARDENER    61 

obscurity.  It  was  a  large  crowd,  overflowing 
across  the  public  square,  a  shabby  crowd,  with 
dark,  sullen,  foreign  faces,  thick  lips,  low  fore- 
heads, and  small  shifting  eyes — Jews,  Hungar- 
ians, Poles,  Slavs.  Those  nearest  the  car  were 
chattering  in  shrill  unknown  tongues,  gesti- 
culating frantically  with  every  word.  Some 
were  smoking,  some  laughing,  some  nodding 
drowsily,  half  asleep.  There  was  no  policeman 
in  sight  and  Nelly  shuddered.  Ricky  beside  her 
and  the  young  chauffeur  on  the  front  seat  were 
the  only  clean-cut,  law-abiding,  American  faces 
she  could  see. 

"Maybe  we  had  better  go,"  whispered  Nelly. 

But  just  then  the  speaker,  accompanied  by  a 
burst  of  manufactured  applause  from  those 
gathered  closest  about  him,  stepped  down,  and 
young  Reuben  Rubenstein  leaped  to  his  place. 
He  began  to  talk  and  the  chatting  around  them 
died,  those  smoking  threw  aside  their  cigarettes 
and  pressed  nearer,  the  drowsy  awoke  and  only 
a  low  murmur  of  assent  now  and  then  swept 
the  silent  crowd.  Where  the  first  speaker  had 
failed  completely,  Reuben  had  the  crowd  with 
him  in  a  moment.  He  was  talking  from  his 


62         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

heart  and  he  talked  well,  with  fire  and  elo- 
quence; the  words  poured  from  his  mouth  and 
swept  the  crowd  along.  Even  Ricky  straight- 
ened up  and  forgot  to  be  bored,  even  the  young 
chauffeur  nodded  agreement  now  and  then.  In 
five  minutes,  Reuben  had  his  audience  swaying 
to  his  will.  It  pressed  closer  around  him,  sullen, 
morose,  muttering,  now  and  again  bursting  into 
spontaneous  cheers.  Nelly  forgot  her  desire 
to  go  home.  She  leaned  eagerly  forward,  her 
small  face  tense  and  earnest,  her  lips  parted,, 
her  eyes  bright.  Tall,  slim,  graceful,  Reuben 
threw  back  his  handsome  head  and  poured 
forth  his  denunciation  of  the  rich. 

"We  are  God's  children,"  he  cried  after  a 
moment's  eloquent  pause.  "We,"  he  cried,  and 
Nelly  half  rose  from  her  seat. 

"Then  why  ain't  yer  satisfied?"  demanded  a 
shrill  Yankee  voice  from  the  obscurity  of  the 
edge  of  the  crowd. 

All  turned  whence  the  voice  came  and  for  a 
moment  the  speaker  seemed  baffled.  Ricky 
chuckled  and  sought  to  pierce  the  gloom  to  see 
the  questioner.  He  thought  he  recognized  the 
voice  of  Miss  Appleby's  head  gardener. 


FOURTH  ASSISTANT  GARDENER    63 

"Satisfied,"  cried  Reuben,  and  the  beauty  of 
his  deep  voice  again  caught  the  attention  of 
the  crowd,  "satisfied  to  be  slaves,  while  our 
masters,  the  devil's  spawn,  ride  around  in  their 
death-dealing  wagons,  trampling  us  beneath 
their  wheels?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  half  a  dozen  shrill  voices, 
while  dull  mutterings  could  be  heard,  rumbling 
like  the  first  warning  thunder-claps  of  an  ap- 
proaching storm. 

"Ain't  God's  favor  worth  a  motor-car?"  de- 
manded the  same  high  voice  that  had  inter- 
rupted before. 

Again  all  turned  to  see  whence  came  the  in- 
terruption. 

"Yes,"  cried  Reuben,  fearing  the  crowd  was 
getting  away  from  him,  "yes,  it  is  and  we  shall 
do  nothing  to  forfeit  His  favor,  but  we  must 
fight  for  our  rights  and  with  Him  behind  us, 
we  will  win — " 

"Win  what?"  demanded  the  unseen  from  the 
edge  of  the  crowd.  "Money,  and  lose  God's 
favor?" 

"Win  justice,"  cried  Reuben,  becoming  ex- 
asperated. His  lean  face  flushed  angrily  and 


64         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

he  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  improvised  stand 
and  sought  to  see  to  whom  he  was  now  directly 
speaking.  "Justice,  that's  all  we  want,  the 
chance  to  be  men,  not  slaves,  to  have  wives  and 
children,  a  home  of  our  own  and  peace.  We  do 
the  work  but  who  gets  the  money?  Last  year, 
I  could  make  twenty-five  dollars  a  week,  this 
year,  I  can't  possibly  make  more  than  sixteen, 
work  as  hard  as  I  can — " 

"How  much  did  yer  get  in  the  old  country?" 
demanded  the  unseen  questioner. 

"Kick  him  out,  kick  him  out,"  yelled  those 
nearest  the  barrel-stand.  Whereupon  the  crowd 
turned  and  surged  angrily  into  the  street. 

"Get  us  out  of  this,"  cried  Ricky  to  the  chauf- 
feur. "Back,  man,  quick." 

The  chauffeur  threw  on  the  power  even  as 
Ricky  spoke,  and  with  a  dull  thud  of  the  en- 
gines, the  car  began  to  puff  and  snort,  backing 
slowly  that  they  might  not  run  over  any  one. 

"Don't  want  to  squash  one,"  explained  the 
boy  at  the  wheel,  glancing  fearfully  behind 
where  the  crowd  eddied  and  whirled.  "They'd 
skin  us  then,  sure." 

The  noise  of  the  engines  drew  Reuben's  at- 


FOURTH  ASSISTANT  GARDENER    65 

tention  as  he  raised  his  voice  in  a  last  desperate 
attempt  to  hold  the  crowd.  By  the  light  of  the 
street  lamp,  he  recognized  Nelly  in  the  tonneau 
of  the  car.  She  was  half  standing,  one  hand 
resting  on  Ricky's  shoulder,  her  small  head  up, 
her  face  white,  but  scornful  of  fear.  In  her 
brave  little  heart  was  the  indomitable  courage 
of  her  grandsire  who  fell  at  Bunker  Hill. 
Reuben's  eyes  brightened,  his  face  softened  and 
he  smiled  in  spite  of  himself.  She  had  come 
though  he  had  not  dared  to  hope,  had  not 
thought  that  she  would  so  condescend.  Across 
the  tumble  of  dark  forms  between  them,  their 
eyes  met.  Reuben  leaped  from  the  barrel  and 
Nelly's  heart  thrilled  to  watch  him  working  his 
way  through  the  crowd  toward  them,  as  a 
master  through  a  pack  of  hounds. 

"Go  slow,  go  slow,"  cautioned  Ricky,  watch- 
ing behind  them.  "Steady  till  we  get  free." 

The  car  backed  slowly,  inch  by  inch.  Now 
and  then,  a  man  was  slightly  brushed  and  he 
would  turn  to  curse  the  car  and  the  liveried 
chauffeur,  or  to  glare  at  the  two  in  the  ton- 
neau with  their  gentle,  high-bred  young  faces. 

"Hold  on,"  cried  Ricky,  but  too  late. 


66         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

The  back  wheel  hit  a  man  in  the  tangled 
swaying  mass  and  threw  him  to  the  street. 
Even  as  the  dull  impact  told  him  that  he  had 
hit  something,  the  chauffeur  threw  in  the  for- 
ward gear  and  the  car  leaped  ahead,  then  stood 
still.  But  the  crowd  had  seen.  With  a  roar  it 
turned  from  pursuit  of  the  man  who  had 
aroused  its  displeasure  and  leaped  at  this  new 
enemy.  Ricky  leaped  to  his  feet  and  forced 
Nelly  down,  standing  between  her  and  the 
stones  which  began  to  fly.  The  chauffeur 
yanked  the  wheel  around  as  far  as  he  could  and 
threw  in  the  clutch  in  a  desperate  but  unsuc- 
cessful attempt  to  turn  the  car,  jammed  as  it 
was  with  the  front  wheel  pressed  against  the 
curb.  With  a  yell,  the  crowd  rushed  at  them, 
but  Reuben  had  made  his  way  to  them,  and 
leaping  on  the  running  board,  turned  angrily 
on  the  rabble. 

"Stand  back,"  he  cried,  striking  the  forward 
man  full  in  the  face  with  his  clenched  fist, 
"stand  back,  I  say.  These  people  are  friends." 

By  the  lights  of  the  car,  the  crowd  recog- 
nized their  leader  and  fell  back,  the  man  he  had 
struck  wiping  his  bleeding  nose. 


FOURTH  ASSISTANT  GARDENER    67 

"Get  out  of  the  way,  behind  there,"  ordered 
Reuben,  master  now.  "Don't  yer  see  he  has  to 
back.  Take  that  mutt  there  on  the  ground 
away." 

Obediently  the  crowd  fell  back,  dragging 
with  them  the  man  whom  the  car  had  struck 
and  who  had  refused  to  rise,  being  too  drunk 
to  do  so  with  dignity  and  disliking  to  forsake 
his  part  as  victim. 

The  car  backed  slowly,  the  front  wheel 
bumped  down  into  the  street  and  the  car 
straightened.  Nelly,  white-faced,  trembling 
now  that  the  danger  was  over,  sat  in  the  seat 
where  Ricky  had  thrust  her,  and  raised  eloquent 
eyes  to  their  rescuer.  Ricky  opened  the  ton- 
neau  door. 

"Come  in,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  in 
boyish  gratitude.  "You're  all  right,  by  Jove." 

Reuben  grasped  the  hand  before  he  realized 
that  it  was  that  of  an  enemy.  "Aw,  that's  all 
right,"  he  said,  blushing  and  stammering.  He 
was  pitifully  young.  He  didn't  want  rights,  or 
justice,  or  God's  favor.  He  wanted  a  big  car, 
Ricky's  clothes  and  good  manners  and  pleasant 
ways. 


68         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Get  in,"  urged  Ricky. 

"Naw,"  returned  Reuben,  overcome  with  boy- 
ish embarrassment,  "I've  got  to  go  back." 

He  swung  off  and  waved  his  hand  as  the  car 
quickened  its  speed  into  the  night.  He  stood 
a  moment  staring  after  it,  seeing  a  girl, 
crouched  on  the  wide  leather  seat,  gazing  up  at 
him  in  speechless  gratitude,  trying  bravely  to 
keep  her  white  lips  from  trembling. 

Vera  was  undressing  in  the  room  the  two 
cousins  had  been  forced  by  the  unexpected  size 
of  the  family  to  occupy  together,  as  Nelly, 
thoroughly  crushed,  stole  softly  in.  She  looked 
at  her  young  cousin  but  forbore  to  question, 
until  the  maid  had  put  out  the  lights  and  left 
them. 

"What's  the  trouble,  Nel?"  she  asked  kindly, 
turning  slightly  toward  the  other.  "You  look 
so  white." 

"Anarchists,"  returned  Nelly,  still  subdued. 
"They  get  so  mad  because  we  have  a  car  and 
they  have  none." 

"Anarchists?"  Vera  strove  to  gather  her 
sleepy  wits  together.  "Do  you  mean  Great- 


FOURTH  ASSISTANT  GARDENER    69 

aunt  Appleby?  I  don't  believe  she  has  a  motor- 
car, but  I  guess  she  could  afford  one — " 

"Poor  people,"  explained  Nelly.  "They  are 
happy  enough  until  they  get  to  thinking  how 
much  more  we  have  than  they  have,  then  they 
get  mad." 

"Jealousy,"  yawned  Vera.  "  "Thou  shalt  not 
covet.'  Moses  should  have  known  that  com- 
mandment could  never  be  kept." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Nelly,  very  wide-awake, 
thinking  of  the  tall  dark-eyed  Reuben  as  he 
fought  his  way  toward  them  through  the 
crowd.  "But  they  say  it's  not  jealousy." 

"We  are  all  of  us  jealous,  anyway,"  said 
Vera  sleepily.  "Good  night,  dear." 

"Good  night,"  answered  Nelly.  "But,  Vera, 
really,  he  says  it  is  not  jealousy." 

Vera  was  soon  breathing  heavily  in  deep 
sleep,  but  Nelly  lay  awake,  wide-eyed,  staring 
at  the  dim  outline  of  the  open  windows,  listen- 
ing to  the  frogs  in  the  swamp  below  the 
meadows,  and  to  the  distant  rumble  of  incoming 
and  outgoing  trains.  Over  and  over,  she  lived 
again  that  evening,  the  dark  swaying  mob,  the 
angry  shouts,  the  flying  stones,  and  Reuben, 


70         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

head  bare,  handsome  face  white  and  anxious 
for  her,  fighting  his  way  through  the  crowd. 
She  had  no  thoughts  for  Ricky.  If  love  were 
to  come  into  her  life  now  that  she  was  married, 
it  was  no  fault  of  hers.  All  she  could  do  under 
the  circumstances  was  to  get  unmarried.  That 
was  easily  done.  Every  one  did  it.  She  had 
married  Ricky  with  the  comforting  thought 
that  if  she  found  she  did  not  love  him,  she  could 
divorce  him  and  there  would  be  no  harm  done. 
So  she  lay  and  dreamed  with  open  eyes,  light  of 
heart  and  easy  of  conscience,  dreamed  of 
Reuben  Rubenstein,  the  fourth  assistant  gar- 
dener, leader  of  men,  champion  of  the  oppress- 
ed and  the  downtrodden. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  LUNCHEON 

V  ERA'S  husband,  Sammy  Van  Fleet,  was 
a  much  dazed  man.  As  he  explained  to 
his  chum,  he  didn't  know  whether  he  was  double 
or  single.  He  had  married  what  he  had  sup- 
posed was  a  woman,  but  had  found  to  his  dis- 
may, after  the  wedding,  that  she  was  instead 
an  individual.  What  she  considered  him,  he 
didn't  know,  except  that  it  certainly  was  not 
an  individual.  There  is  not  room  enough  for 
two  individuals  in  one  house.  From  the  whirl 
and  confusion  of  two  years  of  strenuous  mar- 
ried existence,  he  emerged  with  no  clear  idea 
on  any  subject  save  that  he  was  married  and 
Vera  was  not.  The  few  weeks  during  which 
she  condescended  to  live  under  his  roof,  were 
so  fraught  with  unintended  offenses  on  his  part 
against  her  individuality  that  he  was  thor- 
oughly nervous  and  upset  and  he  would  breathe 
a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  saw  the  last  of  her  as 

71 


72         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

he  dashed  to  the  station  with  her,  her  maid, 
her  dogs,  her  golf  and  other  bags,  her  suffrage 
literature  and  her  individuality.  He  would  re- 
turn to  the  apartment,  worn-out,  confused,  to 
find  its  emptiness  and  its  quiet  like  a  foretaste 
of  the  heavenly  home.  Lately,  Vera  had  talked 
vaguely  of  freedom,  of  a  wider  field  for  her 
soul's  expansion,  unshackled  by  the  clinging 
clasp  of  masculine  hands.  When  she  left  him 
to  go  to  Appleby  House  he  saw  her  off  in  his 
usual  automatic  insensibility  and  returned 
home  pondering  the  possibility  of  seeing  her  off 
for  good. 

Timidly,  he  glimpsed  the  faint  far-away  joy 
there  might  be  in  it,  and  guiltily  considered 
how  he  might  help  her  obtain  that  broader 
freedom  she  craved.  He  put  the  thought  from 
him  instantly  as  being  disloyal  to  something,  he 
did  not  know  what,  but  certainly  not  to  Vera. 
It  kept  recurring,  however,  with  ever  growing 
boldness  as  the  long  quiet  days  passed  and 
finally  he  wrote  to  Vera  in  fear  and  vagueness 
on  the  subject. 

"My  dear  Vera,"  he  wrote.  "When  you  were 
here  last,  you  said  something  about  Reno.  If 


THE  LUNCHEON  73 

you  wish  to  go,  don't  let  me  stand  in  your  way. 
You  know  my  love  for  you  desires  only  your 
happiness.  Lovingly  yours,  Sam." 

It  was  a  pathetic  note,  but  then  Sam  was 
pathetic.  Vera  received  it  the  day  after  she 
met  her  father.  It  surprised  and  touched  her. 
Poor  old  Sammy,  he  too  realized  the  impor- 
tance of  her  happiness.  It  was  pitiful  to  leave 
him,  and  yet  even  he  understood  that  he  must 
be  sacrificed  when  it  was  a  question  of  her  in- 
dividuality. The  possibility  of  her  foregoing 
happiness,  never  entered  Vera's  head.  She  was 
intensely  sorry  for  Sammy  that  he  should  be 
deprived  of  her  flitting  and  erratic  presence, 
but  so  it  must  be.  She  felt  somehow  that  the 
occasion  called  for  a  bit  of  mourning,  a  short 
withdrawal  from  the  frivolities  of  life. 

Gently,  she  tucked  the  letter  away  in  the 
bosom  of  her  dress,  and  as  Miss  Appleby  had 
again  sent  word  down  that  she  was  too  ill  to 
meet  her  guests  that  morning,  Vera  slipped  out 
across  the  lawn  to  the  prim  orchard,  all  a  riot 
of  bloom  now,  to  commune  a  while  with  her  soul 
and  dedicate  a  few  passing  thoughts  of  tender- 
ness to  the  crushed  and  broken  Sammy.  It  was 


74         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

very  warm  and  sultry,  and  Vera  found  after 
a  few  moments,  that  her  own  society  palled  on 
her  terribly.  Her  individuality  could  not  ex- 
pand without  a  spectator,  some  one  to  listen  to 
the  expanding  and  be  impressed  by  it,  some 
humble  creature  who  would  let  her  talk,  and 
talking,  expand.  All  nature  at  the  lovely 
springtime  of  the  year  lay  before  her,  and  she 
found  herself  frankly  bored.  She  glanced  idly 
over  the  low  wall  at  the  end  of  the  orchard  and 
saw  her  father  in  the  shade  of  a  tree's  branches 
which  leaned  over  the  wall.  He  was  sitting 
reading  and  smoking,  a  silk  handkerchief 
tucked  in  his  collar  and  hanging  down  in  front 
like  a  baby's  bib.  His  hat  was  off,  and  Vera 
smiled  and  her  eyes  softened  as  she  noticed  how 
bald  he  was.  Conscious  that  he  was  no  longer 
alone,  he  looked  up  quickly  and  saw  her. 

His  face  brightened  at  the  sight  of  her,  peep- 
ing at  him  from  beneath  the  brim  of  her 
fascinating  little  hat,  all  laces  and  flowing  rib- 
bons. Vera  smiled  spontaneously  and  felt  the 
vague  burden  of  Sammy  and  her  soul's  expan- 
sion recede  into  the  nebulous  calm  of  a  father's 
protection.  He  arose  and  helped  her  over  the 


THE  LUNCHEON  75 

wall,  and  she  sank  into  the  deep  grass  beside 
him  with  a  contented  sigh  and  a  half  formed 
fear  of  bugs. 

"Looking  for  something?"  asked  Appleby  as 
she  glanced  from  side  to  side. 

"Bugs,"  said  she. 

"Looking  for  trouble,  the  way  your  sex  al- 
ways does,"  laughed  Appleby.  "Wait  until  the 
bugs  and  the  troubles  come." 

"I  am  in  trouble,"  said  Vera,  knitting  her 
brows.  "I  hate  to  hurt  Sammy,  but — " 

"Why  hurt  him?" 

"I  find  that  we  are  not  congenial,"  with  a 
prim  sigh. 

"Doesn't  let  you  have  your  way  in  every- 
thing, eh?"  suggested  Appleby,  glancing  at  her, 
amused  and  quizzical. 

"Not  at  all,"  cried  Vera  hotly.  "We  find  we 
have  made  a  mistake."  It  was  a  great  conces- 
sion on  Vera's  part  to  make  it  plural. 

"Been  looking  for  it,  I'll  bet,"  said  Appleby, 
"as  you  were  looking  for  bugs." 

"Yes,"  admitted  Vera  before  she  realized 
what  she  was  saying.  "Dad,  I  swear  if  you 
were  not  my  father,  a  flesh  and  blood  relative 


76         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

and  so  privileged  to  be  insulting,  I'd  divorce 
you  for  saying  such  things  to  me.  As  it  is — " 

"As  it  is  ?"  urged  Appleby. 

"I  forgive  you."  Vera  beamed  at  him,  glad 
to  have  a  man  who  would  say  what  he  wanted 
to  say  to  her.  "Sammy  wants  to  get  rid  of  me. 
See,  here  is  his  letter." 

"Why  did  you  marry  him?"  asked  Appleby, 
reading  the  note  and  handing  it  back,  peering 
at  her  gravely,  as  he  had  a  way  of  doing,  in- 
terested in  knowing  this  young  female  part  of 
him. 

"I  thought  I  loved  him,"  explained  Vera.  "I 
did  like  him,  tremendously,  and  I  kept  wonder- 
ing if  it  were  not  love.  I  thought  it  was,  I  did, 
truly.  And  then  I  always  felt  that  if  I  made  a 
mistake  and  it  wasn't  love,  I  could  divorce 
him." 

Appleby  nodded. 

"How  could  I  tell  ?"  demanded  Vera,  her  con- 
science hurt  by  his  silence.  "I  was  a  young 
girl,  inexperienced.  How  could  I  tell  whether 
it  was  love  or  not?  How  could  I  possibly  know 
whether  he  was  the  right  man  ?" 

"It  is  a  shame,"  agreed  Appleby.     "There 


THE  LUNCHEON  77 

should  be  a  commission  authorized  by  Congress 
to  investigate  such  things  and  assure  us  all 
marital  happiness.  Think  of  being  forced  to 
marry  without  knowing  whether  twenty  years 
hence  we  will  be  as  happy  as  on  the  wedding 
day.  There  should  be  a  law  forbidding  young 
girls  from  undergoing  such  a  risk.  They  may 
be  unhappy,  they  might  have  to  suffer.  It's  ter- 
rible, terrible!  There  should  be  a  law  forbid- 
ding all  suffering." 

Vera  nodded  and  frowned,  gazing  out  over 
the  meadow  spread  before  them.  "Then,"  said 
she,  after  a  moment,  glancing  at  him  diffidently, 
"then  you  don't  advise  Reno?" 

"I  never  advise  a  woman,  my  dear,"  returned 
Appleby. 

"No  woman  would  ever  admit  that  she  was 
taking  your  advice,"  replied  Vera. 

"Would  she  take  it?"  asked  Appleby. 

"She  would,"  said  Vera,  "but  she  would  pre- 
tend that  it  was  what  she  intended  doing  all 
the  time." 

She  nodded  and  pursed  up  her  lips,  realizing 
suddenly  that  it  was  just  possible  Sammy  had 
some  rights  in  the  matter.  After  all,  marriage 


78         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

had  been  as  great  a  risk  for  him  to  take  as  for 
her.  He  might  have  some  rather  interesting 
views  on  the  subject.  "I'll  write  him  that  I've 
just  found  my  father,  and  that  when  he  and  I 
become  acquainted,  I'll  come  back  and  get  ac- 
quainted with  him,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty  lit- 
tle air  of  giving  Sammy  one  more  chance.  Ap- 
pleby  sighed — for  Sammy's  sake.  Getting 
married  to  Vera  was  strenuous  enough,  getting 
acquainted  with  her  would  be  worst. 

"Isn't  that  all  right?"  asked  Vera.  "Don't 
you  approve  of  our  getting  acquainted?  If 
Sammy  knew  me  better — " 

"If  you  knew  Sammy,"  suggested  Appleby. 

"Oh !"  Vera  looked  blank  for  a  moment,  then 
patted  his  arm  with  knowing  condescension. 
"My  dearest  dad,  I  know  Sammy  from  fore- 
lock to  boot-toe." 

"It  may  be  just  possible  that  Sammy  also 
knows  you,"  returned  Appleby. 

Vera  frowned.  Could  it  be  possible  that  she 
was  so  simple  that  Sammy  knew  her  even  as  she 
knew  him?  All  his  little  faults  and  foibles 
were  quite  familiar  to  her.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  she,  too,  had  faults  and  foibles,  and  that 


THE  LUNCHEON  79 

Sammy  likewise  "knew"  her?  Perhaps  there 
was  nothing  to  her  to  know.  It  was  just  barely 
possible  that  she  was  as  simple,  as  easy  to  un- 
derstand, as  Sammy.  She  frowned  thought- 
fully, poking  at  the  sod  with  her  parasol. 

Appleby  smoked  stolidly  and  turned  again  to 
his  perusal  of  the  Sunday  supplement,  his  silk 
handkerchief,  tucked  in  his  collar,  giving  him 
the  appearance  of  an  elderly  baby.  It  was  a 
pleasure,  Vera  found,  to  sit  with  a  man  who 
was  frankly  indifferent  to  you  at  times.  It 
gave  her  that  delightful  feeling  of  being  at  lib- 
erty to  show  her  indifference  to  him  and  yet 
sure  that  he  cared  as  much  for  her  as  she  did 
for  him.  She  pondered  this  new  idea  a  while, 
and  then  poked  her  father. 

"If  Sammy  treated  me  as  you  do,  I'd  pinch 
him,"  said  she. 

"What?"  asked  Appleby,  turning  to  her  a  bit 
impatiently. 

"I  said,"  repeated  Vera  emphatically,  "that 
if  Sammy  were  as  nasty  to  me  as  you  are,  I'd 
pinch  him." 

"Has  to  make  love  all  the  time,  eh,  poor 
devil,"  grunted  Appleby. 


80         ONLY  KELATIVES  INVITED 

"He  has  to  show  that  I  am  more  interesting 
than  the  Sunday  supplement,"  declared  Vera. 

"My  dear,"  said  her  father,  "you're  not." 
And  he  turned  with  relief  to  the  pictured  ad- 
ventures of  two  small  boys  and  a  billy-goat. 

At  lunch,  Miss  Varney  again  presided,  ex- 
plaining in  her  low  charming  voice,  with  the 
little  flutter  of  her  hands  that  made  Ricky's 
heart  flutter  also,  that  Miss  Appleby  was  deeply 
grieved  at  her  inability  to  meet  her  guests,  that 
she  hoped  to  be  able  to  do  so  to-morrow  at  the 
latest.  These  attacks  of  hers  were  annoying, 
but  not  serious.  They  seldom  lasted  longer 
than  three  days.  She  hoped  they  would  make 
themselves  thoroughly  at  home  and  if  they 
wanted  anything,  they  must  not  hesitate  to 
speak  to  Miss  Varney  or  Mrs.  Mainwaring 
about  it. 

"Would  it  not  be  better  if  we  all  left  and  re- 
turned when  auntie  is  feeling  better?"  asked 
Mrs.  Bingham,  a  tall  slender  woman,  with  a 
thin  earnest  face,  rather  plain,  but  decidedly 
"stylish."  She  had  arrived  the  night  before 
with  her  maid,  her  two  pretty  little  girls  and 
their  nurse. 


THE  LUNCHEON  81 

The  women  politely  seconded  the  suggestion. 
But  Miss  Varney  protested  at  the  mere  idea. 
These  attacks,  from  which  Miss  Appleby  suf- 
fered, were  sometimes  very  short.  Miss  Ap- 
pleby might  possibly  be  down  that  evening  to 
dinner. 

"I  could  return  the  minute  she  recovered," 
explained  Mrs.  Bingham,  glancing  nervously 
behind  her  and  pausing  as  though  listening  to 
pursuing  footsteps. 

"Really,"  protested  Miss  Varney,  "I  think 
Miss  Appleby  would  be  better  pleased  if  you 
all  remained.  Of  course,  if  you  gentlemen  have 
any  business  in  the  city — " 

"Now,  why  should  they  have  such  important 
things  to  do  that  they  are  needed  in  the  city 
any  more  than  we  women?"  demanded  Maude, 
covering  Miss  Varney  with  nervous  confusion, 
as  indeed  she  did  every  time  she  spoke.  "Are 
we  simply  dolls,  simply  men's  playthings,  that 
our  time  and  presence  are  of  no  value?  We, 
ourselves,  of  no  importance  anywhere?" 

"You  are  of  importance  to  us,  dear,"  said  the 
unfortunate  Tommy,  trying  to  soothe  her. 

"In  what  way?"  demanded  Maude  crisply. 


82         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Merely  as  a  plaything,"  she  answered  herself, 
before  any  one  could  speak. 

Looking  at  Maude,  tall  and  broad-shouldered, 
her  brown  hair  flying  in  all  directions  around 
her  large  face  and  big  features,  it  was  hard  to 
conceive  of  her  as  anybody's  plaything.  She 
looked,  as  she  spoke,  directly  at  Vera,  and  Vera 
smiled  back,  the  infuriatingly  friendly  smile  of 
the  charming  woman,  sure  of  her  masculine  fol- 
lowing, for  the  other  woman  plainer  and  less 
popular  than  she,  and  both  were  aware  of  it. 

"I'm  not  sure  sometimes  which  is  the  play- 
thing," said  Vera,  "the  man  or  the  woman — 
provided  the  woman  knows  men,"  she  added 
sweetly,  sending  the  barbed  shaft  straight  at 
poor  Maude. 

"Handle  a  man's  susceptibilities  as  if  he  were 
a  punching  bag  and  had  none  and  you're  likely 
to  get  a  punch,"  declared  Van  Tuyl. 

Miss  Varney,  with  all  the  tender  heart  of 
her,  rushed  to  the  defense  of  the  misunderstood 
Maude.  "Mrs.  Peters — I  mean  Miss  Lane — 
that  is — er — er — Mrs.  Brown — "  She  stopped 
in  confusion,  unable  to  think  what  Maude  called 
herself. 


THE  LUNCHEON  83 

"Mrs.  Eve,"  laughed  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels. 
"Maude  is  right.  We  women  should  not  lose 
our  identity  just  because  we  marry.  We  are 
all  Miss  Eve,  unmarried;  when  married,  Mrs. 
Eve." 

"But  there  was  no  Eve,"  said  Appleby, 
"merely  a  monkey." 

"Evolution  is  only  a  theory  after  all,"  re- 
torted Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels.  "Eve  is  a  fact." 

"A  fact,  where?"  demanded  Van  Tuyl. 

"In  the  Bible,"  declared  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels 
triumphantly.  "We  should  prefer  facts  to  the- 
ories." 

"Evolution  is  a  fact,"  said  Harkness,  a  short, 
fat  little  man  who  didn't  say  much  and  thought 
less. 

"Certainly,"  declared  Maude,  basely  desert- 
ing her  sex  for  the  sake  of  science ;  "every  one 
knows  that  evolution  is  so.  The  Bible  was 
written  in  those  old  days — " 

"It  certainly  is  not  modern,"  agreed  Appleby, 
"or  it  would  be  listed  among  the  'six  best  sell- 
ers,' and  it  is  not." 

"It  isn't  very  interesting,"  said  Harkness. 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  returned  Ap- 


84         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

pleby.  "There  isn't  a  book  written  nowadays 
that  isn't  among  the  best  sellers." 

"Salt  sellers?  There  ain't  none.  Just  them 
little  dishes,"  said  the  shrill  voice  of  Anna,  the 
maid,  in  Appleby's  ear  as  she  pointed  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  small  cut-glass  salt  dish  beside 
his  plate. 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly,"  said  Appleby  hastily, 
glancing  at  the  girl  in  surprise. 

The  maid  gathered  up  the  dishes  and  strode 
from  the  room. 

"She  is  a  'new*  girl  and  a  trifle  deaf,"  apolo- 
gized Miss  Varney.  "She  does  not  quite  under- 
stand her  place,  and  being  deaf  she  makes  more 
mistakes  than  she  otherwise  would.  I  am  so 
sorry  for  her  and  so  is  Miss  Appleby.  That  is 
why  we  keep  her." 

"New,  you  say,"  said  Van  Tuyl,  taking  a 
small  pad  from  his  pocket  and  unscrewing  his 
fountain-pen.  "Just  over?"  He  paused,  pen 
poised  in  air,  and  glanced  at  Miss  Varney. 

"I  think  she  has  been  here  a  few  years,"  an- 
swered Miss  Varney,  wondering  if  she  had  in 
any  way  already  incriminated  the  poor  thing. 


THE  LUNCHEON  85 

"I  know  very  little  about  her,  except  that  her 
name  is  Anna  Hogan." 

"My  paper,"  explained  Van  Tuyl,  profession- 
ally important,  "The  Voice  of  the  People, 
prints  social  notes,  not  of  the  wealthy  but  of 
the  poor.  Why  not?" 

He  looked  aggressively  from  one  to  the  other 
and  Miss  Varney  murmured  hastily,  "Why  not, 
indeed." 

"Er — er — real  people?"  asked  Appleby. 

"Certainly,  real  people,"  declared  Van  Tuyl. 
"Read  the  society  column  of  any  paper  and 
what  sense  is  there  in  it  to  the  large  majority 
of  readers?  'Miss  Jones  spent  the  morning 
horseback  riding.'  Who  of  us  cares  a  bent  pin 
how  Miss  Jones  spent  the  morning?  About  five 
out  of  the  thousands  who  read  the  paper  know 
who  Miss  Jones  is,  anyway." 

"How  many  more,  though,  would  know  Miss 
O'Gallagher?"  asked  Appleby. 

"As  many,  perhaps,  as  know  Miss  Jones," 
returned  Van  Tuyl.  "But  it  is  the  importance 
it  lends  to  you,  you  see.  None  of  us  knows 
Miss  Jones,  but  after  reading  that  notice,  we 


86         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

all  want  to  know  her,  we  want  to  spend  the 
morning  horseback  riding.  We  immediately 
picture  Miss  Jones  as  a  beautiful  creature,  a 
modern  Diana,  whereas  she  is  probably  short 
and  fat  and  plain,  with  no  seat  and  a  poor 
mount.  Now,  I  maintain  that  the  rich  are  of 
no  more  importance  than  the  poor." 

"No,  indeed,"  cried  Nelly,  looking  up  quickly, 
her  cheeks  flushing  as  she  recalled  the  speech 
of  the  night  before.  "No,  indeed,  the  poor  are 
God's  children." 

"God  is  going  at  a  premium,  then,"  said  Ap- 
pleby.  "We  would  all  much  prefer  not  to  be- 
long to  Him  if  it  means  poverty." 

"The  poor — "  began  Nelly  in  brave  defense 
of  the  absent  Reuben. 

"The  poor  least  of  all,  my  dear,"  smiled  Ap- 
pleby.  "They  say  they  are  the  favored  class, 
but  there  isn't  one  of  them  who  wouldn't  just 
as  soon  not  be  so  favored." 

"Precisely,"  broke  in  Van  Tuyl,  not  to  be 
turned  from  his  point.  "But  a  notice  in  the 
papers  as  the  rich  have  keeps  them  contented. 
They  feel  that  they  are  some  pumpkins.  A  con- 
tented person  is  neither  poor  nor  rich." 


THE  LUNCHEON  87 

"I  should  think  it  would  be  embarrassing," 
objected  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels.  "Think  of  read- 
ing about  yourselves  like  this,  'Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Von  Loben  Sels  have  just  been  ejected  for  fail- 
ure to  pay  their  rent.' " 

"No  more  embarrassing  than  'Mr.  Van  Tuyl 
of  the  prominent  Van  Tuyl  family,  of  New 
York  and  Paris,  was  brought  home  yesterday 
morning  at  four  A.  M.,  so  drunk  his  family  was 
compelled  to  summon  the  doctor  to  administer 
quieting  drugs,' "  argued  Van  Tuyl.  "But  we 
don't  put  embarrassing  notices  like  that  in  the 
papers.  To  return  to  Miss  Jones,  we  read  that 
she  goes  horseback  riding,  but  just  as  interest- 
ing to  the  most  of  us,  and  far  more  typical  of 
life,  would  be  the  notice  that  'Miss  Watts  has 
left  the  employ  of  the  Browns  and  been  en- 
gaged by  Mrs.  Black/  Why  not?" 

"Everybody  would  immediately  wonder  how 
much  more  Mrs.  Black  offered  her,"  objected 
Mrs.  Bingham. 

"Or  why  not,"  went  on  Van  Tuyl,  too  en- 
grossed with  his  theme  to  pay  any  attention 
now  to  interruptions  of  minor  importance,  "or 
why  not,  'Miss  Peters,  stenographer  for  the 


88         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

John  MacCormack  Company,  at  so  and  so,  such 
and  such  a  street,  has  had  a  raise  for  meritori- 
ous work*  ?  The  last  two  notices  are  life,  they 
have  the  human  touch.  The  first  notice — noth- 
ing to  it.  Any  of  us  can  go  horseback  riding 
in  the  morning,  provided  we  have  the  horse  and 
the  leisure.  Not  all  of  us  can  get  a  raise  in 
pay." 

A  small  woman  at  the  end  of  the  table  sighed 
and  nodded  acquiescence.  She  was  Maude's 
sister-in-law  and  an  exact  opposite,  little  and 
plain,  with  the  gentle  unobtrusive  manners  of 
a  kindly  old  lady.  One  was  seldom  ever  aware 
!of  her  presence  unless  she  spoke,  and  then  one 
forgot  it  the  moment  after.  She  was  dressed 
severely,  but  in  exquisite  daintiness.  Her  busi- 
nesslike shirt-waist  was  of  hand-embroidered 
silk  with  collars  and  cuffs  of  the  finest  lawn, 
also  heavily  embroidered.  Her  short  skirt  was 
extremely  full  around  the  top  and  the  name  of 
the  tailor  on  the  inside  of  its  waist-band  as- 
sured its  price  beyond  all  question.  Either 
skirt  or  waist,  by  itself,  cost  more  than  the 
wages  of  a  stenographer  in  a  month.  She  had 
arrived  that  morning  and  was  vainly  trying  to 


THE  LUNCHEON  89 

get  up  courage  enough  to  confess  to  Maude 
that  to  come  and  spend  a  week  at  Appleby 
House,  she  had  been  forced  to  give  up  her  job. 

"Yes,"  said  she  gravely,  from  knowledge  at 
first  hand,  "it  is  very  hard  to  get  a  raise." 

"Cally  hasn't  worked  long  enough,"  cried 
Maude  quickly,  as  every  one  turned  in  surprise 
upon  Cally. 

"I've  worked  three  years,"  returned  Cally,  a 
bit  defiantly. 

"Why  do  you  do  it  at  all?"  asked  Vera  kindly. 
"You  look  awfully  white  and  tired,  Cally." 

"John  broke  ?"  asked  Van  Tuyl  solicitously. 

"Oh,  no,"  cried  Cally,  "but  no  woman  should 
be  a  parasite.  I  must  be  as  economically  inde- 
pendent as  my  husband  is." 

"If  you  women  are  economical  and  we  men 
are  independent  that  is  a  fair  division,"  said 
Tommy,  who  had  thought  this  remark  up  dur- 
ing the  night  as  a  result  of  a  curtain  lecture 
Maude  had  read  him  and  had  not  had  the  cour- 
age to  say  it  to  her  alone,  as  it  were,  and  un- 
protected. He  glanced  at  her  now  quickly,  and 
saw,  as  did  the  rest  of  the  assembled  family, 
that  he  "was  in  for  it." 


90         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Van  Tuyl  turned  to  Miss  Varney  and  let  the 
storm  sweep  over  Tommy  unnoticed,  though 
he  caught  now  and  then  the  foolish  sophistries 
of  the  present  day  and  a  lot  of  hackneyed 
phrases  coined  by  uplift  fanatics.  "As  to  this 
new  maid,  Miss  Varney,  can  you  tell  me  where 
she  last  worked?  Thank  you.  And  her  name? 
Miss  Anna  Hogan?  Yes.  Now,  do  you  know 
where  her  house  is?  159  Bond  Street.  Thank 
you.  I  shall  call  and  see  if  I  can  get  any  news 
of  the  rest  of  the  family,  little  social  notices, 
you  know.  Maude,  may  I  borrow  Tommy's 
car?" 

Tommy  having  been  satisfactorily  reduced 
to  pulp  by  the  combined  force  of  the  ladies, 
none  of  whom  dared  to  refrain  in  the  presence 
of  Maude  from  a  share  in  the  annihilating 
process  lest  they  incur  a  like  attack  themselves, 
Maude  turned  to  Van  Tuyl. 

"Certainly,"  said  she.  "Let  me  take  you, 
Freddy.  I  am  terribly  interested  in  this  kind 
of  people  and  I  think  your  idea  is  fine.  We 
should  try  to  uplift  them — " 

"Uplift  God's  own?"  asked  Appleby  piously. 

"And  where,"  inquired  Harkness  suddenly, 
"where  shall  we  lift  them  up  to?" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MISS  VARNEY 

MISS  VARNEY  softly  closed  Miss  Apple- 
by's  door  and  crept  down-stairs.  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon  and  the  great  house  was 
wrapped  in  silence.  The  Bingham  children  and 
the  Von  Loben  Sels  relays  had  been  lured  to 
the  lower  meadows  by  their  nurses  so  that  not 
even  their  joyous  shouts  broke  the  quiet  of  the 
house  and  grounds.  Van  Tuyl,  with  Maude  for 
guide,  philosopher  and  chauffeur,  and  Nelly  as 
a  grateful  companion,  had  gone  to  the  slums 
for  "copy."  Vera  had  received  a  telegram 
from  her  mother  that  her  contemplated  trip  to 
Reno  had  been  postponed  for  a  week  that  she 
might  come  to  Appleby  House  instead,  her  dear 
child's  interests  being  more  to  her  than  her 
own  happiness.  Vera  had  gone  to  the  station 
to  meet  her  in  the  clumsy  old  Appleby  carriage 
drawn  by  two  fat  horses  in  slow  and  solemn 

91 


92         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

state.  The  rest  of  the  house  party  in  sheer 
boredom  was  sleeping  away  a  few  hours. 

Miss  Varney  tripped  down-stairs  and  at  the 
foot  met  Harkness,  fat  and  red,  coming  up  to 
meet  her. 

"Miss  Varney,"  said  he,  and  stopped  with  a 
little  cough. 

"Yes,"  inquired  Miss  Varney,  gently  encour- 
aging him. 

"Er — er — er — "  stammered  Harkness. 

Miss  Varney  smiled  cheerfully  with  as  much 
intelligence  as  the  remark  seemed  to  call  for 
and  patiently  waited  for  him  to  continue. 

"The  servants — "  Harkness  began  again 
vaguely. 

"Have  they  been  saucy?"  asked  Miss  Varney 
hastily,  her  sweet  face  flushing,  visions  of 
wholesale  discharges  and  Van  Tuyl  frantically 
writing  notes  in  her  mind's  eye. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  returned  Harkness  almost 
irritably,  as  though  she  had  contradicted  him, 
pained  that  she  failed  so  stupidly  to  understand 
him,  "no,  no,  not  at  all,  not  at  all." 

"You  wish  to  speak  to  one?"  suggested  Miss 
Yarney. 


MISS  VARNEY  93 

A  step  was  heard  on  the  flagged  terrace 
without  and  Harkness  sprang  past  the  girl  and 
started  up-stairs,  two  steps  at  a  time.  At  the 
turn  he  paused  and  peered  cautiously  over  the 
railing.  The  door-bell  rang  and  Miss  Varney 
turned  in  startled  surprise  from  watching 
Harkness*  precipitate  flight  and  moved  toward 
the  door  to  see  if  it  were  any  more  relatives 
arriving  to  spend  the  week.  The  footman 
opened  the  door  and  his  remarks  to  the  man 
without  were  lost  to  Miss  Varney  in  the  hoarse 
whisper  which  floated  down  to  her  from  over 
the  railing  at  the  turn  of  the  stairs. 

"If  that  is  any  one  for  me,"  panted  Hark- 
ness, "I  am  not  here,  I  am  not  here,  understand, 
and  I  am  not  coming  here — Miss  Varney,  if  it 
is  for  me — " 

"It  isn't  for  you,  Mr.  Harkness,"  answered 
Miss  Varney  as  coldly  as  it  was  possible  for 
one  so  sweet  to  speak,  and  a  bit  disgusted  with 
the  stout  man,  she  went  forward  to  meet  the 
footman  who  was  bringing  her  a  note  of 
friendly  query  for  Miss  Appleby. 

She  took  the  note,  and  still  gently  offended 
with  Harkness,  walked  down  the  hall  to  the  li- 


94         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

brary  door  and  entered.  In  a  big  chair,,  in  the 
embrasure  of  the  window,  she  saw  Ricky, 
calmly  asleep,  head  back,  mouth  open,  an  un- 
opened magazine  on  his  knees.  The  window 
was  a  French  one,  wide  open  to  the  spring  and 
the  flies,  and  Miss  Varney  caught  a  glimpse  be- 
yond the  recumbent  Ricky  of  the  quaint  yew- 
hedge  with  the  tiny  gate  that  led  into  the 
peace  and  seclusion  of  the  old-fashioned  flower 
garden.  Miss  Varney  was  tired  and  worried. 
She  wanted  a  few  minutes  before  dinner  and 
the  rush  of  the  evening  to  herself  in  which  to 
collect  her  scattered  wits  and  quiet  her  rasped 
nerves.  A  stray  breeze,  sweet  from  a  violet 
bed,  crept  into  the  room  and  Miss  Varney  could 
not  resist.  She  stole  softly  to  an  adjacent  win- 
dow and  strove  to  open  it  without  arousing 
Ricky.  But  the  lock  clicked  and  Ricky  awoke, 
glanced  around  a  moment  in  dull  sleepiness, 
saw  Miss  Varney  about  to  escape  and  pursued, 
taking  a  short  cut  out  of  the  near-by  window 
and  meeting  her  on  the  top  of  the  porch  steps. 
"Caught!"  he  cried  with  the  joyousness  of 
one  who,  having  spent  the  entire  afternoon  try- 
ing not  to  be  bored,  sees  a  delightful  diversion. 


MISS  VARNEY  95 

"Hand  over  the  family  spoons,  and  I  will  say 
nothing." 

"There  are  spoons  and  spoons,"  returned 
Miss  Varney,  rallying  her  weary  spirits  to  en- 
tertain her  guest.  She  gave  a  bit  of  a  sigh 
before  she  realized  it,  and  Ricky  was  at  once 
all  tenderness. 

His  boyish  face  looked  so  kind  and  anxious, 
she  laughed  and  gave  him  a  little  pat  on  the 
arm.  "There  is  little  to  earn  and  many  to 
keep,"  she  quoted,  smiling  into  his  frank  gray 
eyes. 

Beyond  the  yew  hedge,  from  the  sweet  se- 
clusion of  the  flower  garden,  a  thrush  called 
softly  in  the  warm  fragrant  twilight,  one  clear 
steady  note  with  a  bit  of  a  trill  at  the  end.  The 
long  shadows  were  creeping  across  the  deep 
velvet  of  the  lawn.  Miss  Varney,  hardly  con- 
scious of  what  she  did,  lured  by  the  peace  of 
the  coming  twilight,  descended  the  porch  steps 
and  strolled  pensively  toward  the  small  green 
gate  in  the  high  hedge.  Ricky  trotted  content- 
edly after  her,  wondering  what  she  meant  by 
"many  to  keep." 

Could  it  be  possible  that  she  was  married 


96         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

and  like  Maude  clung  to  her  personality  in  her 
name,  and  like  Cally,  spurred  on  by  Maude, 
was  determined  to  be  economically  independ- 
ent? These  economically  independent  women 
always  used  all  their  wages  to  pay  another 
woman  to  take  care  of  their  children,  be  the 
mother  while  they  played  the  man.  He  looked 
at  her  graceful  slender  back,  at  the  soft  white 
of  her  neck  where  the  hair  clustered  above  the 
edge  of  her  dainty  evening  gown,  and  decided 
that  her  back  certainly  looked  delightfully,  ex- 
travagantly dependent.  Maybe  she  was  di- 
vorced. The  man  was  probably  a  brute  and 
she  had  left  him  in  self-defense  and  taken  the 
children  with  her  and  now  in  her  proud  sweet- 
ness, having  refused  to  accept  alimony,  was 
supporting  them  herself.  This  thought,  too3  he 
put  aside.  The  innocence  of  virgin  girlhood 
clung  to  her  as  the  fragrance  of  the  single  rose 
she  wore  in  the  folds  of  her  kerchief  clung  to 
the  delicate  pink  petals.  Who  could  the 
"many"  be? 

She  had  reached  the  gate  and  he  hastened 
to  open  it  for  her,  standing  aside  that  she  might 
pass  in  ahead  of  him.  He  bent  eagerly  and 


MISS  VARNEY  97 

asked  impulsively,  "Who  are  the  many?"  Then 
he  flushed  crimson  at  his  unbridled  curiosity 
and  stammered  forth  a  weak  apology  for  his 
rudeness. 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him.  "The 
many?"  she  asked,  having  already  forgotten 
her  quotation. 

"The  many  men  you  are  thinking  about," 
said  Ricky  lamely,  glad  to  hide  curiosity  under 
however  crude  a  joke. 

"Many — worries,"  she  corrected  him,  smil- 
ing. 

"Don't  worry,"  pleaded  Ricky. 

"I  have  to,"  said  she.  "How  can  I  help  it? 
Miss  Appleby — "  she  paused.  Near  the  gate 
was  a  small  rustic  seat  and  she  sank  into  it,  in- 
stinctively drawing  her  skirts  aside  to  make 
room  for  Ricky.  "Miss  Appleby — "  again  she 
paused. 

"Must  be  a  Tartar,"  finished  Ricky  sym- 
pathetically. "Begging  your  pardon." 

"No,  no,"  she  shook  her  head  and  gazed  down 
the  box-bordered  path.  "She  does  not  approve 
of  divorce — " 


98         ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Nor  of  men,  I  guess,"  said  Ricky  cheerfully. 
"She  never  got  married  though  she  must  have 
had  chances  with  all  her  money." 

Miss  Varney  nodded,  hardly  heeding  his 
words  in  her  own  anxious  thoughts  and  the  re- 
lief to  have  some  one  in  whom  she  could  in  a 
measure  confide.  "I  am  so  afraid  she  will  be 
angry." 

"Angry?    With  whom?" 

"With  all,"  said  Miss  Varney  boldly.  "Where 
is  Vera  Van  Fleet's  husband?" 

"Sammy?  He's  home." 

"Are  they — divorced?" 

"Not  yet,  but  they  hope  to  be  soon.  You  see 
Sammy  wants  the  sitting-room  called  a  sitting- 
room,  done  over  in  green  with  red  roses  and 
purple  upholstery.  Vera  wants  the  room  called 
a  library,  done  in  pastel  shades  with  old  mis- 
sion furniture  and  one  picture." 

"If  there  were  only  more  of  you  coupled  and 
less  uncoupled,"  complained  Miss  Varney.  She 
fumbled  in  the  soft  draperies  of  her  skirt  and 
from  some  hidden  source  drew  forth  the  red 
leather  bound  book,  with  the  gold  tipped  pencil 


MISS  VARNEY  99 

attached.  "You  see  there  are  so  many  of  you, 
when  she  only  expected  a  few  and  I  do  not 
know  how  to — break  it  to  her." 

"By  jove,"  said  Ricky. 

"She  may  become  very  angry  and  leave  all 
her  money  to  charity." 

"By  jove,"  said  Ricky.  "I  told  Nel  it  was 
foolish  to  come.  She  wouldn't  love  us  any  more 
seeing  us,  probably  less.  Ton  my  word,  that's 
What  I  said." 

"Nelly,"  said  Miss  Varney  thoughtfully, 
turning  the  leaves  of  the  little  book — "yes, 
Nelly  Crane,  her  mother  was  an  Appleby  and 
she  will  be  here  to-morrow  and  Nelly's  mother's 
second  husband  is  coming  with  his  fourth  wife 
and  his  child  by  Nelly's  mother — " 

"By  jove,"  interrupted  Ricky,  "sounds  like  a 
dog  show,  don't  you  know." 

Miss  Varney  went  on,  not  noticing  the  inter- 
ruption, " — who  is  living  with  him  this  six 
months,  the  child,  I  mean,  and  Nelly's  mother's 
third  husband — " 

"Spare  me,"  cried  Ricky.  "My  brain  is  only 
normal — too  great  a  strain — "  He  waved  the 
catastrophe  airily  aside,  as  too  big  for  words. 


100       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"How  am  I  ever  going  to  introduce  you  all," 
wailed  Miss  Varney.  "I  shall  have  to  use  this 
book—" 

"For  heaven's  sake,  don't  lose  that  book," 
begged  Ricky.  "It  is  the  only  thing  that  can 
keep  us  all  straight." 

Miss  Varney,  running  idly  through  the  book, 
nodded  and  paused  at  the  H's.  "Now,  Mr. 
Harkness — he  isn't  married.  His  mother  was 
an  Appleby,  but  he — I  am  afraid  there  is  some- 
thing the  matter  with  him." 

"By  jove,"  said  Ricky.    "Tuberculosis?" 

"No— the  law." 

"The  law?"  stammered  Ricky. 

Miss  Varney  nodded  firmly.  "I  think  he  is 
'wanted/  "  said  she  grimly. 

"By  jove,"  said  Ricky. 

"What  can  I  do?"  asked  Miss  Varney  help- 
lessly. "You  and  Nelly,  and  Maude  and 
Tommy,  are  the  only  connected  ones  there  are. 
The  rest  are  disconnected." 

"I'll  telegraph  Sammy  to  come,"  declared 
Ricky,  all  eagerness  to  help.  "That'll  be  an- 
other complete  couple." 


MISS  VARNEY  101 

"Yes,  that  will  be  good,  and  Cally's  husband 
can  be  brought  on." 

"Surely,"  agreed  Ricky.  "We'll  seem  quite 
old-fashioned,  everybody  married  to  everybody 
else.  Don't  worry." 

Miss  Varney  had  cheered  up  wonderfully. 
"Vera's  mother  is  coming,"  said  she.  "Why 
can't — "  she  paused  and  turned  as  beautiful 
a  pink  as  the  rose  in  her  kerchief,  "her  father 
being  here,  too,"  she  stammered. 

Ricky  understood  her  poorly  expressed  idea, 
but  he  frowned.  "There  are  the  biscuits, 
though,  she  always  takes  them  around  with  her, 
Marjory  and  Kenneth." 

"Biscuits?" 

"The  second  baking,"  explained  Ricky. 

"But  if  Mr.  Morgan  is  not  coming,  couldn't 
they  be  Applebys  for  just  a  few  days?" 

"We  can  try,  anyway,"  said  Ricky  hopefully. 
"I  should  think  they  could,  that  they  would  be 
glad  to,"  he  nodded  enthusiastically,  as  Miss 
Varney  brightened  more  and  more  with  every 
word  he  said.  "Things  will  come  out — " 

"Get  out  of  here,  do  you  hear  me?    Get  out 


102       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

of  here,  I  say!  No  strange  man  is  allowed  in 
these  grounds — " 

A  high  shrill  voice  reached  them  from  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge,  shattering  to  bits  the 
evening  calm. 

Miss  Varney  rose  hastily  to  her  feet,  all  the 
brightness  leaving  her  face,  the  immobility  of 
the  competent  secretary  enveloping  her  in  its 
impenetrable  folds  as  she  slipped  the  book  back 
into  its  hiding-place  and  hurried  to  the  gate, 
Ricky  after  her. 

"No,  sir;  you  can't.  Go  at  once,  I  say,  go  at 
once,  or  I'll  call  my  mistress." 

Miss  Varney  reached  the  gate  and  opened  it 
before  Ricky  could  help  her.  Mrs.  Bingham's 
nurse,  head  up,  cap  bows  quivering  with  indig- 
nation, stood  facing  the  fourth  assistant  gar- 
dener, as  he  sought  to  take  the  path  to  the  sta- 
bles. Behind  her,  clinging  to  her  skirts  and 
peeping  forth  like  two  frightened  chicks,  were 
the  children.  Down  the  porch  steps,  hastening 
toward  them  across  the  lawn,  her  thin  face 
ghastly  white,  her  long  ringed  fingers  clasped 
in  dismay,  came  Mrs.  Bingham. 

"Maggy,  what  is  it,  what  is  it?"  she  cried. 


MISS  VARNEY  103 

Reuben  Rubenstein,  lean  and  dark  and  hand- 
some, shabby  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  black 
eyes  flashing,  half  amused,  half  angry,  wholly 
disgusted,  strove  to  make  himself  understood 
above  the  nurse's  shrill  treble.  Miss  Varney 
laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  arm. 

"Maggy,  be  still,"  she  ordered. 

"No  strange  man — "  shrilled  the  girl,  her 
round  stupid  face  flushed. 

"Maggy  is  right,"  panted  Mrs.  Bingham  as 
she  snatched  the  two  children  to  her,  "I  can  not 
allow  a  stranger — " 

Miss  Varney  half  laughed  with  vexation. 
"He  is  not  a  stranger,"  she  cried  firmly,  leav- 
ing the  girl  for  the  mistress.  "He  is  Reuben, 
Miss  Appleby's  gardener." 

"Bah,"  cried  the  nurse,  "the  stupid  creature, 
and  why  didn't  he  say  so  ?" 

Reuben  met  the  merry  glance  in  Miss  Var- 
ney's  eyes  and  his  irritation  vanished.  Touch- 
ing his  hat  to  her  in  frank  and  instinctive  ad- 
miration, which  afterward  made  him  furious 
when  he  thought  about  it,  he  forbore  to  an- 
swer and  went  around  the  house  to  the  stables. 

"Go  in  at  once,  Maggy,"  ordered  the  still 


104       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

agitated  Mrs.  Bingham,  "and  take  the  children. 
You  see,  Miss  Varney,"  she  added  as  the  maid 
departed,  "you  see  I  can  not  permit  strange 
men — " 

"Certainly,"  soothed  Miss  Varney,  all  tact 
and  gentleness,  "I  suppose  all  mothers  are  wor- 
ried lest  kidnapers — " 

"Yes,  yes,  indeed,"  agreed  Mrs.  Bingham 
vaguely,  her  eyes  and  apparently  her  thoughts 
still  on  the  retreating  maid  and  the  children. 
"Kidnapers,  of  course,  and  detectives.  Will 
you  kindly  request  the  gardener  to  see  that  no 
strange  men  of  shabby  appearance  be  allowed 
to  approach  the  house?  Thank  you." 

She  nodded  hastily  and  hurried  after  the 
children. 

Miss  Varney  turned  to  Ricky  in  comical  dis- 
may. Ricky  patted  her  shoulder. 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,"  he  soothed.  "I'll 
telegraph  Sammy  and  we  will  get  along  some- 
how, only  don't  you  worry.  I  can't  bear  to 
have  you  worry."  His  voice  fell  softly. 

The  long  shadows  enveloped  them  and  from 
the  flower  garden  came  the  sweet  clear  note  of 
the  thrush.  Ricky  put  out  his  hand  and  Miss 


MISS  VARNEY  105 

Varney  laid  her  little  plump  one  in  it.  He 
raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"Trust  me,"  he  whispered  gently. 

But  Miss  Varney's  low  reply  was  lost  in  the 
clear  sweet  call  from  the  flower  garden. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  REUBENSTEINS'  WINDOW 

ANNA  HOGAN'S  folks  lived  on  the  top 
floor  of  what  Van  Tuyl  refused  to  call  a 
"cheap"  apartment-house. 

"Cheap  is  a  stigma  of  contempt,"  he  ex- 
plained to  Maude  as  she  skilfully  drew  up  be- 
side the  curb  and  stopped  the  car  exactly  in 
front  of  their  destination.  "Because  these  peo- 
ple are  poor,  they  should  not  be  designated  by 
words  of  contempt." 

"Certainly  not,"  agreed  Maude,  while  Nelly's 
tender  heart  fluttered  gratefully.  "Reuben  was 
poor  but  there  was  no  reason  for  any  of  them 
to  'look  down  on  him/  " 

Peace  and  contentment,  boiled  cabbage, 
broken  toys  and  an  enormous  phonograph 
reigned  supreme  over  the  Hogans'  home. 

"How  do  you  do,"  cried  Maude  with  the  ar- 
dent cordiality  of  a  long  lost  relative,  as  the 
door  of  the  apartment  was  opened  in  answer  to 
106 


THE  RUBENSTEINS'  WINDOW      107 

her  imperative  knock.  She  was  so  afraid  of 
appearing  condescending  that  Van  Tuyl  flushed 
guiltily  for  her,  with  a  mingled  fear  of  the 
woman's  taking  offense,  and  of  Maude  herself. 

Maude  strode  into  the  narrow  hall  and  down 
it  to  the  sitting-room,  while  the  woman,  her 
brain  reeling  in  her  endeavors  to  decide  what 
relative  this  was  turning  up  so  unexpectedly, 
followed  in  dazed  surprise  and  Van  Tuyl  fol- 
lowed her. 

Nelly  had  hesitated  on  the  landing,  for  just 
as  the  Hogans'  door  opened,  the  door  of  the  op- 
posite apartment  likewise  opened  and  on  the 
threshold  appeared  Reuben  Rubenstein.  He 
stopped  abruptly  when  he  saw  her  and  into  his 
eyes  leaped  a  look  that  caused  Nelly  to  blush 
delightfully  and  to  drop  quickly  her  own  shin- 
ing eyes. 

"How  do  you  do?"  she  smiled,  making  no  at- 
tempt to  follow  Maude  and  Van  Tuyl,  both  of 
whom  had  forgotten  her.  "You — did  not  get 
hurt  last  night?" 

Reuben  laughed  gaily.  "No.  I  hurt  others, 
you  plutocrats  who  are  crushing  us  poor  people 
to  death." 


108       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Nelly,  looking  so  small  and 
slender  and  helpless  that  the  idea  of  her  crush- 
ing an  ant  seemed  an  absurdity.  "We  have 
come  to — uplift,"  she  explained. 

Reuben  grunted.    "The  Hogans?"  he  asked. 

Anna  was  a  pretty  girl  in  her  blank  German 
way,  and  Nelly  felt  a  sudden  stab  of  jealousy 
for  her  great-aunt's  serving  maid  because  she 
lived  directly  opposite  the  home  of  the  fourth 
assistant  gardener.  The  pang  was  instinctive 
and  Nelly  crushed  it  out  in  sickening  disgust 
with  herself.  It  couldn't  be  possible  she  had 
fallen  so  low  in  this  spring  madness  that 
seemed  to  envelop  her  as  to  become  jealous  of 
servants. 

"Do  you  live  here?"  she  asked,  hoping  that 
he  didn't  because  Anna  lived  so  near,  and  de- 
claring to  herself  that  it  was  no  matter  to  her 
where  he  lived,  not  because  of  any  claims  the 
absent  Ricky  might  have  on  her,  but  because 
fourth  assistant  gardeners  and  servants  were 
no  concern  of  hers  at  all. 

"Yes,"  said  Reuben,  "I  live  here.  Come  in 
and  see  ma,"  he  added  with  the  hospitable  sim- 
plicity of  a  gentleman  unashamed  of  himself 


THE  RUBENSTEINS'  WINDOW      109 

and  his  family.  He  opened  the  door  again  and 
stepped  aside  to  let  her  pass  him. 

For  one  moment,  Nelly  hesitated  and  caught 
her  breath  as  one  about  to  take  a  cold  plunge. 
She  had  never  been  "slumming,"  and  she  had 
vague  pictures  of  squalor  and  misery  and  dirt 
and  sickness.  All  "poor  people"  were  in  the 
same  class  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  all  in 
rags,  sleeping  on  straw  in  huts  with  the  pigs 
and  chickens  and  dogs.  All  were  pick-pockets 
and  cutthroats,  illiterate,  rude,  repulsive,  in 
a  way  different  creatures,  though  of  the  same 
form  as  herself  and  her  kind.  She  wanted  to 
know  just  what  kind  of  people  Reuben's  were 
and  yet  she  didn't  want  the  shock  of  finding 
them  all  her  fancies  feared.  That  they  were 
precisely  like  herself,  God-fearing,  kindly 
hearted,  simple  folk,  just  a  trifle  less  artificial 
than  she,  never  entered  her  head. 

The  entrance  hall  was  dark  and  narrow,  but 
the  room  beyond  into  which  Reuben  escorted 
her  was  big  and  bright  and  shabby,  clean  and 
homelike,  half  dining-room  and  half  sitting- 
room.  In  the  two  windows  of  the  room  were 
cans  and  pots  of  bright  red  geraniums.  The 


110       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

dining-table  with  its  red  checkered  cloth,  cruet 
stand,  sugar  bowl  and  tumbled  napkins,  was 
pushed  into  one  corner.  An  open  machine,  lit- 
tered with  a  half  finished  dress,  stood  in  front 
of  a  window.  On  one  side  was  a  narrow 
lounge,  well  used  from  the  dilapidated  appear- 
ance of  its  springs.  The  wall-paper  was  dingy, 
the  carpet  worn,  but  the  sun  streamed  in 
through  the  cheap  lace  curtains,  a  bird  sang 
shrilly  in  one  corner  and  over  all  was  the  infi- 
nite peace  of  home.  Mrs.  Rubenstein  was  a 
stout  Jewess,  with  a  round  pleasant  face.  She 
was  in  a  huge  rocking  chair,  a  small  child  in 
her  arms,  resting  contentedly  against  her  ample 
breast.  She  regarded  Nelly  in  simple  kindli- 
ness, much  as  her  Great-aunt  Appleby  would, 
and  nodded  as  Reuben  introduced  them.  Nelly 
took  a  chair  and  glanced  around  timidly,  in 
growing  surprise.  The  furniture  and  curtains 
were  cheap,  but  like  Van  Tuyl,  Nelly  quickly 
rejected  that  word  as  casting  a  stigma  on  things 
on  which  no  stigma  should  rest.  Somehow  in 
that  atmosphere,  in  the  presence  of  the  calm- 
eyed  Jewess,  things  did  not  appear  cheap  in  the 
full  meaning  of  that  word.  It  was  home  and 


THE  RUBENSTEINS'  WINDOW      111 

the  furniture  and  curtains  were  part  of  it.  The 
fat  Mrs.  Rubenstein  rocked  placidly,  tenderly 
cuddling  the  little  head  on  her  arm  and  making 
no  attempt  to  start  a  conversation. 

"Isn't  it  pleasant  here,  up  so  high?"  said 
Nelly,  her  spirits  rising  as  she  realized  that  in 
like  financial  circumstances,  she  might  possibly 
do  as  these  people  did,  might  be  precisely  like 
them. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Rubenstein,  "we  like  it." 

Reuben  had  eyes  only  for  the  girl,  now  and 
then  glancing  at  his  mother  eager  for  approval. 
"It  is  nice  here,"  said  he.  "We  are  going  to 
have  another  window  cut  in  front  there,  ain't 
we,  ma  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Rubenstein. 

"Won't  that  be  fine,"  cried  Nelly. 

"We  need  more  winter  sun,"  explained  Reu- 
ben. "The  landlord  says  we  can  have  it  done. 
It  will  overlook  the  street,  you  see,  and  so  won't 
be  in  the  way  if  they  build  on  the  side  of  us 
higher  than  we  are.  We  have  to  pay  for  it, 
though." 

"Oh,  it  won't  cost  much,"  said  Nelly  eagerly, 
judging  from  her  financial  standpoint. 


112       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"No,"  agreed  Mrs.  Rubenstein.  "It'll  pay  to 
have  it  done.  The  baby  is  ailing  most  all 
winter." 

Nelly  glanced  at  the  big-eyed  youngster,  star- 
ing at  her-f  rom  the  shelter  of  its  mother's  arms. 
He  was  hardly  more  than  four,  a  thin  little 
chap,  with  a  delicate  white  face,  thick  black 
hair  and  the  nose  of  his  race,  which  in  Reuben 
was  barely  observable. 

"Poor  little  fellow,"  said  Nelly.  "Is— is  he 
Reuben's  brother?" 

Reuben  laughed  at  her  hesitation.  "Pretty 
young  for  a  brother  of  mine,  eh,"  said  he.  "But 
he  is  all  the  same,"  and  he  patted  the  small 
dark  head,  and  his  hard  face  softened. 

"Reuben  is  my  first,"  explained  Mrs.  Ruben- 
stein.  "I  had  sixteen  between  these  two." 

"Sixteen,"  gasped  Nelly. 

Again  Reuben  laughed.  "Ten  boys  and  six 
girls,  "  said  he.  "Most  of  them  are  still  in  the 
old  country." 

"Dead?"  asked  Nelly  fearfully. 

"Married,"  said  Reuben. 

"How  many  times  were  you  divorced?" 
gasped  Nelly. 


THE  RUBENSTEINS'  WINDOW      113 

"None,"  said  Mrs.  Rubenstein  sternly.  "I 
am  a  good  woman." 

"When  we  poor  folks  marry,  we  stay  mar- 
ried," said  Reuben  proudly. 

"Haven't  you — can't  you  afford  a  divorce?" 
asked  Nelly  timidly. 

"No  decent  woman  wants  to  be  divorced," 
returned  Mrs.  Rubenstein,  rocking  a  little  more 
energetically. 

But  Reuben  was  of  the  younger  generation. 
He  had  tasted  the  freedom  of  this  country  at 
an  impressionable  age,  and  he  was  throwing 
aside  the  bonds  of  the  old  country  and  the 
older  generations.  "That's  it,"  he  agreed  with 
truth.  "We  can't  afford  to  be  divorced,  though 
we  may  want  to  be.  We  have  to  be  careful,  you 
see,  and  marry  the  woman  we  love." 

He  looked  straight  and  boldly  at  Nelly,  and 
into  his  dark  eyes  leaped  again  the  look  she 
had  seen  as  he  came  upon  her  unexpectedly  in 
the  hall,  a  look  which  no  woman  can  misjudge. 
Nelly  caught  one  glimpse  and  looked  away  ha- 
stily, returning  to  the  subject  of  the  new  win- 
dow to  hide  her  confusion.  In  her  breast  a 
turmoil,  fright,  not  unmixed  with  pleasure. 


114       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

guilt,  oddly  mingled  with  anger  that  he  should 
presume  thus  on  her  friendliness.  He  should 
not  look  at  her  like  that,  he,  the  fourth  assist- 
ant gardener.  She  would  have  nothing  more 
to  do  with  him  now  that  he  took  such  advan- 
tage of  her  kindly  interest  in  his  family;  but 
after  all  what  had  he  done?  Nothing.  She 
would  have  to  wait  for  another  glance  before 
she  could  be  sure  she  had  seen  aright,  and 
meanwhile,  she  would  not  judge  him  too 
harshly.  He  was  only  a  gardener,  an  unedu- 
cated Jew  and  even  to  think  her  thoughts  was 
silly  and  lowering  to  herself.  So  she  con- 
versed hastily  and  in  annoying  confusion,  on 
the  subject  of  the  window.  Reuben,  too,  was 
shaken  and  turned  to  any  topic  for  relief. 

"We  are  going  to  put  it  there,"  said  he, 
pointing,  "between  the  window  and  the  door. 
We  know  a  fellow,  a  dandy  fellow,  who  will 
do  it  cheap  for  us." 

"He's  a  real  good  carpenter,"  added  Mrs. 
Rubenstein. 

"That  will  be  nice,"  said  Nelly.  She  rose, 
seeking  a  belated  safety  in  flight.  "I  think  I 
must  go." 


THE  RUBENSTEINS'  WINDOW      115 

"What's  your  hurry?"  asked  Reuben,  more 
nearly  bursting  with  joy  and  pride  the  longer 
she  was  there. 

At  this  the  door  flew  open  and  two  little 
girls  of  twelve  and  thereabout,  ran  in,  flinging 
their  school  books  on  the  table  and  chattering 
in  high  joyous  trebles.  Then  they  beheld  the 
strange  lady  and  stopped  in  shy  confusion  and 
slipped  behind  the  high  back  of  their  mother's 
chair.  They  were  fat,  healthy  little  Jewesses 
with  Reuben's  good  looks  and  the  mother's 
placidity.  Reuben  introduced  them  and  they 
nodded  their  pretty  black  heads,  and  one  said 
bravely,  "How  do  you  do?" 

Nelly  protested  that  she  must  go. 

"Come  again,"  said  Mrs.  Rubenstein. 

"Come  when  we  get  the  new  window  in  and 
see  how  nice  it  looks,"  urged  Reuben. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  replied  Nelly,  not  knowing 
clearly  what  she  did  say. 

She  wished  them  all  good-by  and  hurried  out, 
hoping  that  Reuben  would  not  follow  her,  but 
he  did  and  in  the  narrow  dark  passageway,  con- 
fusion seized  her  again.  He  was  right  behind 
her  and  she  felt  him  brush  against  her  as  he 


116       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

passed  her  to  reach  the  door.  In  nervous  haste 
to  open  it  first,  she  clasped  the  knob  and  his 
hand  closed  over  hers.  Both  drew  back,  more 
confused  than  ever  and  Reuben  murmured  an 
apology.  Nelly  laughed  gaily,  indifferently,  her 
self-control  returning  as  she  realized  that  he, 
too,  was  embarrassed.  She  was  the  lady  again, 
dainty,  aloof,  he  the  gardener,  the  underling; 
between  them  was  the  question  of  services  and 
wages,  nothing  else.  Well  poised  now,  fortified 
by  years  of  social  training,  Nelly  waited  quietly 
until  he,  fumbling  awkwardly  with  the  latch, 
managed  to  open  the  door. 

She  gave  him  a  pleasant  little  inclination  of 
the  head  and  with  a  polite  gay  little  good-by, 
stepped  out  into  the  publicity  of  the  hall.  But 
Reuben  stepped  out  after  her,  shutting  the  door 
on  the  merry  chatter  of  the  children  and  the 
amused  laugh  of  the  contented  mother. 

She  was  offended  now  that  he  should  know 
his  place  so  poorly  as  to  follow  her.  She  threw 
up  her  head  coldly  and  turned  her  back  on  him 
as  she  strove  to  remember  which  of  the  three 
doors  that  faced  her  was  the  Hogans'  door. 


THE  RUBENSTEINS'  WINDOW      117 

"I  am  going  back  to  Miss  Appleby's,"  said 
Reuben  quietly. 

She  was  immediately  furious  with  herself  for 
fearing  for  a  moment  that  he  would  follow  her, 
tingling  with  shame  lest  he  should  think  that 
she  thought  there  was  anything  at  all  between 
them.  She  looked  at  him  and  in  his  dark  eyes 
read  that  he  knew  why  she  had  turned  her  back 
on  him  and  that  he  was  hurt.  Once  more  her 
poise  left  her  and  confusion  descended.  She 
blushed  hotly  and  turned  hastily  again  to  the 
three  doors. 

"Which  is  the  Hogans'?"  she  asked,  peering 
in  the  dim  light  at  the  dirty  cards  pinned  on 
the  doors  and  striving  to  steady  her  voice.  Why 
did  he  always  affect  her  so,  he,  the  fourth  as- 
sistant gardener?  She  must  be  going  crazy, 
she  told  herself  scornfully. 

"The  first,"  said  Reuben,  calm  now,  when 
she  was  confused,  and  not  moving  from  the 
head  of  the  stairs. 

"Thank  you,"  said  she,  once  more  looking  at 
him. 

He  was  very  grave,  very  much  hurt  and  she 


118       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

felt  as  guilty  as  though  she  had  struck  a  child. 
She  wanted  to  apologize,  but  restrained  her- 
self from  that  complete  absurdity.  Apologize 
for  what? 

"I  have  to  wait  for  my  cousins,"  she  ex- 
plained, all  sweetness  again,  to  take  that 
wounded  look  from  his  eyes.  She  smiled  at  him 
in  friendly  equality,  no  longer  the  great  lady 
addressing  a  servant. 

Reuben's  face  instantly  brightened  and  eager 
admiration  once  more  leaped  into  his  eyes.  He 
felt  that  he  should  go,  but  now  that  she  was 
gracious  again,  he  could  not  leave  her  without 
a  last  word,  a  consummation  of  the  tacit  peace 
between  them. 

"It  is  pretty  well  decided  that  the  boys  will 
strike,"  said  he,  unable  to  think  of  anything  to 
say  except  of  that  which  was  his  principal  in- 
terest in  life. 

"Strike?"  asked  Nelly,  secretly  glad  herself 
that  all  was  again  well  between  them. 

"At  the  button  factory,"  explained  Reuben. 
"I  haven't  worked  there  for  a  long  time,  but  I 
belong  to  the  Union,  and  I  am  going  to  help  at 


THE  RUBENSTEINS'  WINDOW      119 

picket  duty.  You  see  we  have  to  fight  for  our 
rights." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Nelly,  "but  has  great-aunt 
taken  any  of  your  rights?" 

"Certainly,"  Reuben  was  all  Socialist  at  once, 
burning  with  righteous  anger  that  others  should 
have  what  he  coveted.  "All  of  you  rich  look 
down  on  us  and  trample  on  us — " 

"You  don't  seem  trampled  on,"  protested 
Nelly.  "Your  mother  seemed  as  happy — " 

"Happy,"  cried  Reuben,  "happy,  dressed  in 
that  old  calico  wrapper  with  you  in  your  swell 
silk." 

"If  I  wore  calico,  you  wouldn't  mind  then 
because  your  mother  did,"  declared  Nelly.  "If 
we  all  had  nothing,  everybody  would  be  happy. 
You  only  want  to  have  what  we  have,  or  else 
have  us  have  nothing." 

"It  is  not  so,"  cried  Reuben.  "We  do  all  the 
work,  you  get  all  the  fun.  All  we  want  is 
higher  wages  and  the  Union  recognized." 

"Maybe  great-aunt  can't  afford  to  give  you 
more,"  objected  Nelly. 

"Then  there  is  nothing  for  us  to  do  but 


120       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

strike,"  returned  Reuben.  "We  know  she  can 
afford  it,  though;  besides,  the  money  is  ours. 
We  make  it." 

"But  if  you  don't  like  what  she  pays  you,  you 
can  leave." 

"We're  going  to,  all  of  us." 

"And  find  other  work?" 

"And  keep  others  from  working  for  her  un- 
til she  gives  us  what  we  want." 

"That  doesn't  seem  fair,"  protested  Nelly. 
"The  factory  is  hers." 

"It  may  not  be  fair,  but  it's  a  strike,"  said 
Reuben.  "You  can't  let  a  scab  have  your  job." 

"But  if  you  don't  want  it,"  pleaded  Nelly. 

Reuben  passed  that  over.  He  knew  from  ex- 
perience that  one  could  not  argue  with  Nelly 
and  keep  one's  sanity.  "We  are  going  to  have 
a  meeting  next  week  and  vote  on  it.  I  will  let 
you  know  how  it  comes  out.  I  have  to  go  back 
now  to — slavery." 

He  raised  his  hat  and  Nelly  smiled,  nodding 
gaily.  He  certainly  was  good-looking  and  he 
raised  his  hat  with  better  grace  than  either 
Tommy  or  Ricky  did.  She  watched  him  run 
down-stairs,  even  went  to  the  railing  to  see  him 


THE  RUBENSTEINS'  WINDOW      121 

the  better  as  he  descended  the  three  flights  to 
the  street. 

As  she  watched  him,  the  Hogans*  door 
opened  and  Maude  appeared,  followed  by 
Freddy  Van  Tuyl  and  Mrs.  Hogan.  Mrs.  Ho- 
gan  was  flushed  and  pleased,  frankly  indiffer- 
ent to  Maude,  her  undivided  attention  given  to 
Van  Tuyl. 

Freddy  drew  forth  his  note-book  and  ran  the 
pages  over.  "Here  it  is,"  said  he,  reassuringly. 
"Mrs.  Hogan  plans  to  have  a  few  friends  in  for 
an  informal  gathering  on  the  night  of  May 
twenty-fourth." 

Mrs.  Hogan  nodded.  "Ain't  that  grand," 
said  she,  ignoring  Maude  entirely.  "Well,  come 
again,  Mr.  Van  Tuyl,  and  I'll  give  you  some 
more  news." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Hogan,  I  will,"  said 
Freddy  warmly. 

Mrs.  Hogan  bowed  them  to  the  stairs,  with 
the  hauteur  of  a  head  waiter  to  a  shabby  diner 
turning  to  an  absurdity  the  mere  suggestion 
of  Maude's  uplift,  condescending  from  her 
lofty  pinnacle  to  wish  that  thoroughly  dazed 
lady  a  distant  good  day. 


CHAPTER  X 

MORE  RELATIVES 

THE  way  to  the  station  was  long,  the  horses, 
slow  and  sedate,  so  Vera  had  time  to  think, 
and  her  thoughts  were  all  confusion.  She  knew 
that  she  loved  her  mother  as  much  as  ever, 
but  where  had  her  loyalty  gone?  Why  did  her 
mother  no  longer  seem  a  paragon  of  all  the  vir- 
tues? She  thought  of  her  father  and  her  face 
softened.  She  loved  him  and  needed  him,  had 
needed  him  all  the  years  of  her  pampered  child- 
hood. A  stepfather,  except  on  rare  occasions, 
is  worse  than  no  father  and  especially  when  one 
feels  that  he  is  a  false  step,  as  it  were,  that 
somewhere  out  in  the  world,  was  the  real  fa- 
ther, the  flesh  and  blood  father,  the  only  father. 
It  seemed  to  Vera  that  her  world  was  crashing 
around  her  ears.  Her  rampant  loyalty  to  her 
mother  had  given  place  to  a  deep  and  tender 
pity  for  that  lady,  not  unmixed  with  filial 
amusement.  She  loved  her  mother,  but  she 

122 


MORE  RELATIVES  123 

also  loved  her  father  and  she  realized  that  this 
last  love  could  not  be  denied  any  more  than 
the  other.  The  two  loves  must  go  hand  in  hand 
down  her  life  as  long  as  she  lived,  and  if  the 
two  parents  could  not  or  would  not  do  the  same, 
she,  the  child,  suffered  for  it,  but  her  suffering 
could  not  alter  the  love  she  felt  for  both,  her 
longing  for  both,  her  need  of  both. 

As  she  waited  near  the  iron  gate  at  the  end 
of  the  train  shed,  the  first  person  she  saw 
among  the  stream  of  passengers  was  her 
mother,  coming  eagerly  toward  her.  The  sight 
of  the  fat  little  figure  brought  a  thrill  to  Vera 
as  it  always  did.  She  was  passionately  fond  of 
her  mother  and  the  sudden  realization  that  she 
could  no  longer  look  up  to  her  in  no  way 
dimmed  that  love.  Vera  felt  that  even 
though  her  mother  had  disliked  her  father,  she 
had  had  no  right  to  turn  his  child's  love  against 
him,  no  right  to  separate  them,  no  right  to 
think  that  in  the  years  to  come  when  the  child 
had  assumed  woman's  estate  and  was  as  cap- 
able of  judging  men  and  life  as  her  mother, 
that  she  would  naturally  feel  toward  her  father 
the  dislike  her  mother  felt. 


"But  with  all  her  faults,  I  love  her  still," 
thought  Vera,  hurrying  forward  with  twinkling 
eyes.  "If  a  person  really  loves  another,  good- 
ness and  badness  can't  affect  that  love  at  all." 

Her  mother  was  delightfully  youthful  look- 
ing in  her  short  skirt  and  enormous  baggy 
coat,  hardly  any  older  than  Vera.  Her  stylish 
hat  was  small  and  rakish  and  in  her  immacu- 
lately gloved  hand  she  carried  an  exquisite 
oddity  in  the  purse  line.  Her  round  smooth 
face  was  flushed  with  anticipation  and  her  eyes 
were  bright  and  merry.  Beside  her,  all  in 
white,  with  big  serious  eyes,  and  thin  legs, 
walked  Marjory.  Behind  them  followed  an 
austere  footman,  a  rug  thrown  over  one  arm, 
and  behind  him  came  a  maid  and  a  nurse. 

"Vera,  dear  child." 

Vera  bent  and  kissed  her  mother  gaily. 
"Darling,  are  you  well?"  she  asked  as  she  al- 
ways did  on  meeting,  though  her  mother  was 
always  the  picture  of  blooming  matronly 
health.  She  turned  to  Marjory.  "Hullo, 
chicken,  kiss  your  grandma." 

"Not  in  public,"  returned  the  child  coldly. 
"It  is  bad  form." 


MORE  RELATIVES  125 

"Silly,"  said  Vera,  taken  aback. 

"Hullo,"  cried  a  jovial  voice  behind  them. 
"Where  did  you  come  from?" 

Vera  glanced  around  and  beheld  Stephen 
Mayhew  at  the  head  of  an  animated  group  of 
women,  some  older,  some  younger,  some  fat, 
some  thin,  all  youthful,  if  not  exactly  young, 
and  all  extremely  well  dressed.  Beyond  the 
women  was  a  group  of  white-capped  nurses 
and  what  seemed  to  Vera  a  perfect  swarm  of 
children. 

"More  relatives,"  she  cried,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

Stephen  was  staggering  under  a  load  of  bag- 
gage, with  a  porter  beside  him,  equally  loaded 
and  two  freight  hands  sagging  beneath  an  ac- 
cumulation of  suit-cases,  hat  boxes,  golf  bags, 
shawl  straps  and  baskets.  Stephen  deposited 
his  load  on  the  platform  and  shook  hands  with 
Vera  and  her  mother. 

"All  relatives,"  said  he.  "This  is  my  wife," 
and  he  gently  thrust  forward  the  lady  nearest 
him. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Alison  Drake  Fisher  Parker," 
volunteered  a  small,  anemic  little  woman,  with 


a  pale  pretty  face.  "How  is  dear  Aunt  Ap- 
pleby?  I  have  brought  all  my  children  so  she 
could  see  them,  all  except  Harold  Fisher.  It  is 
his  father's  three  months  to  have  him,  so  I 
couldn't  bring  him,  but  Mr.  Fisher  has  four 
children  of  his  own,  so  he  won't  be  lonely." 

"I  am  Mrs.  Fisher,"  said  a  pleasant-faced 
woman,  stepping  forward.  "I  have  brought 
Harold.  Mr.  Fisher  heard  of  Miss  Appleby's 
request  that  all  the  blood  relatives  should  spend 
a  week  with  her  and  thought  as  Harold  was  a 
relation  he,  too,  ought  to  come.  Harold  is  here 
somewhere.  Mr.  Fisher  was  too  busy  to  bring 
him,  so  I  did." 

Mrs.  Allison  Drake  Fisher  Parker  turned 
hastily,  anxiously.  "Where  is  he?  I  must  see 
him.  Mr.  Fisher's  third  child  by  his  first  mar- 
riage looks  so  very  much  like  Harold,  and  is 
only  two  years  older.  It  would  be  terrible  if 
you  had  brought  him  by  mistake  and  auntie 
should  think  he  was  my  Harold." 

"Yes,  it  would,"  agreed  Mrs.  Fisher.  "But 
I  am  sure  I  have  the  right  one.  Doesn't  Jimmy 
visit  his  mother  this  month  ?" 

"I  do  not  know.     I  have  such  a  hard  time 


MORE  RELATIVES  127 

keeping  my  children's  visit  to  their  fathers 
straight,  sending  the  right  children  to  the  right 
fathers,  that  I  can't  possibly  know  my  former 
husbands'  children's  visits  to  their  mothers. 
But  if  I  remember  rightly,  Jimmy  was  given 
outright  to  his  grandmother  and  lives  perma- 
nently therefore  with  his  father." 

The  two  agitated  ladies  fluttered  to  the  rear 
to  inspect  the  children,  and  Vera  glanced  in 
amusement  at  her  mother.  But  there  was  no 
answering  gleam  in  her  mother's  eyes  as  there 
would  have  been  in  her  father's.  Vera  sighed. 

"I  have  a  carriage  here,"  she  said  to  Stephen, 
"but  I  am  afraid  all  of  you — " 

Stephen  laughed.  "Quite  a  bunch,  eh?"  said 
he.  "You  run  along,  Vera.  I  can  get  some 
taxis.  I  presume  this  town  isn't  wholly  cut  off 
from  civilization." 

"Mother,"  said  Vera,  when  they  were  finally 
settled  in  the  carriage,  with  the  servants  fol- 
lowing in  a  station  hack,  "mother,  father  is 
here." 

She  wanted  to  break  the  fact  to  her  mother 
gently  lest  the  sight  of  Appleby  should  give  her 
mother  a  shock,  not  dreaming  that  the  hatred 


128       ONLY  KELATIVES  INVITED 

for  her  father  which  the  mother  had  uncon- 
sciously encouraged  in  the  child  was  not  shared 
at  all  by  her  mother.  The  years  had  swept 
away  whatever  bitterness  Mrs.  Morgan  may 
have  felt  and  left  her  rather  curious  and  ex- 
cited at  the  prospect  of  meeting  her  first  love, 
with  a  tendency  to  remember  only  the  pleasant 
courtship  and  the  first  happy  years  that  had 
followed.  The  anger  that  had  parted  them  had 
died  entirely,  and  the  good  lady  would  have  been 
surprised  to  know  that  Vera  had  suffered  so 
much  longer  and  deeper  than  she  had  over  her 
"wrongs."  When  Vera  told  her  that  Appleby 
had  already  arrived,  Mrs.  Morgan  was  decid- 
edly pleased. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him  again,"  said  she, 
in  pleasant  anticipation.  "I  haven't  seen  him 
for  years,  and  have  hardly  heard  a  thing  about 
him  in  all  that  time.  How  is  he,  Vera?  He 
was  always  delightfully  amusing." 

"He  is  well,"  said  Vera,  a  bit  surprised  by 
her  mother's  calm  acceptance  of  her  news.  She 
felt  Marjory's  eyes  on  her  in  critical  gravity 
and  wondered  uncomfortably  if  her  hair  was 
coming  down  or  if  there  was  soot  on  her  nose. 


MORE  RELATIVES  129. 

^Mother,"  said  she,  taking  her  courage  in  both 
hands,  and  speaking  out,  "mother,  you  must 
not  go  to  Reno  again." 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  in  startled  sur- 
prise, started  to  speak  but  was  forestalled  by 
Marjory. 

"Vera,  your  hat  is  on  crooked." 

"My  child,"  returned  Vera  coldly,  instinc- 
tively righting  her  hat,  "your  nose  is  on 
crooked." 

"It  isn't." 

"It  is,  pardon  me." 

"Mama,  is  my  nose  crooked?" 

"No,  no,  dear,"  soothed  Mrs.  Morgan.  "It  is 
a  lovely  little  nose,"  and  she  smiled  tenderly  as 
she  ran  her  hand  gently  over  the  member  under 
dispute.  "Vera  was  fooling." 

Marjory  subsided  for  a  moment,  watching 
her  sister  with  angry,  lowering  eyes.  Vera 
turned  to  her  mother  and  they  chatted  on  in- 
different subjects,  neither  caring  to  mention 
that  which  was  uppermost  in  the  minds  of 
each. 

"Mama,  why  does  Vera  make  such  a  funny 
mouth  when  she  laughs  ?" 


130       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Never  mind,  love,"  said  her  mother,  reach- 
ing across  Vera's  lap  to  lay  her  hand  on  the 
child's.  "You  wouldn't  like  it  if  Vera  made 
any  personal  remarks  about  your  appearance, 
so  you  see,  dear,  you  should  not  make  any 
about  Vera's." 

"But,  mama,  Vera  said  my  nose  was 
crooked." 

"You  didn't  like  her  to  say  it,  though,  dear, 
did  you?" 

"I  just  as  soon  she  should,"  said  the  child  de- 
fiantly, 

"No,  dear,"  chided  her  mother  gently,  "you 
didn't  like  it." 

"She  said  it,  though,"  cried  Marjory  angrily. 

"Children,"  interrupted  Vera  sternly, 
"should  be  seen  and  not  heard." 

"If  you  can  talk,  guess  I  can,"  declared  Mar- 
jory and  stuck  out  a  small  moist  little  tongue  in 
Vera's  direction. 

"Marjory,  dear,"  protested  her  mother. 

"Mother,"  demanded  Vera,  amused  and  an- 
gry, "is  that  reasoning  on  your  part  or  help- 
lessness?" 


MORE  RELATIVES  131 

"Vera,  a  child  is  an  intelligent  human  being, 
we  must  reason  with  them." 

"I  shall  reason  with  mine  when  they  are 
prostrate  over  my  knee,  flat  on  their  little  tum- 
mies," declared  Vera,  "on  the  original  seat  of 
all  human  reasoning." 

"Vera!" 

Vera  laughed  at  her  mother's  shocked  amuse- 
ment and  Marjory  closed  the  argument  by 
again  protruding  her  small  tongue. 

It  was  nearly  dinner  time  when  the  slow 
horses  finally  reached  the  great  house  on  the 
hill  and  drew  up  under  the  portico.  Two  taxis 
had  passed  it  a  good  ten  minutes  before,  so 
Vera  knew  that  Stephen  with  his  disjointed 
harem  and  warmed  over  nursery  had  arrived 
before  them.  The  guests  had  begun  to  gather 
on  the  wide  terrace  in  joyful  anticipation  of 
the  dinner  bell,  the  most  welcome  break  in  the 
monotony  of  the  long  day.  Appleby  strolled 
over  to  them  as  they  mounted  the  stone  steps, 
Vera  slightly  in  advance  of  her  mother. 

"Mother,"  said  she,  turning,  "let  me  intro- 
duce my  father." 


132       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Mrs.  Morgan  laughed.  "Vera,  how  absurd." 
She  held  out  her  hand  to  Appleby,  smiling  with 
pleasure.  Appleby's  quiet  air  of  a  distin- 
guished statesman  delighted  Mrs.  Morgan  as 
much  now  as  it  had  twenty  years  before. 
He  was  such  a  satisfying  specimen  of  her  own 
good  taste. 

"Henry  Appleby,"  she  cried,  "who  would 
think  to  meet  you  here  after  all  these  years." 

"Everybody,"  smiled  Appleby,  taking  her 
hand  and  holding  it  as  he  looked  down  at  her 
curiously.  "An  aunt  with  forty  millions  is  not 
a  common  thing.  God's  own  would  foreswear 
Him  for  a  bit  of  the  forty  millions." 

"God's  own?"  questioned  Mrs.  Morgan,  who 
had  never  been  able  to  understand  her  first  hus- 
band. 

"The  jealous,"  explained  Appleby. 

"Helen?"  asked  Mrs.  Morgan,  naming  his 
second  and  deceased  wife  and  smiling  with 
pleasure  at  the  thought  that  he  had  always 
cared  enough  for  her  to  make  his  other  wife 
jealous. 

"He  means  the  poor,  mother,"  explained 
Vera.  "Dad  says  they  aren't  poor  if  they  only 


MORE  RELATIVES  133 

have  sense  enough  to  know  it.  They  are  sim- 
ply jealous  because  we  have  the  most." 

"You  are  looking  well,  May,"  said  Appleby, 
"not  a  day  older,  I  swear.  And  is  this  my 
daughter  once  removed?"  and  he  turned  to 
Marjory. 

Miss  Varney  joined  them,  followed  by  the 
devoted  Ricky.  She  looked  tired  and  calmly 
suppressed.  Still  the  relatives  gathered  and 
every  available  room  and  bed  in  the  house  was 
full. 

"Mrs.  Van  Fleet,"  said  she  to  Vera,  after 
the  greetings  and  introductions,  "I  am  putting 
your  mother  in  the  room  with  Mrs.  Parker — " 

"Put  her  in  my  room,"  cried  Vera.  "It  is  a 
large  room  and  I  am  sure  Nelly  won't  mind. 
There  will  be  room  for  Marjory,  too,  if  we 
crowd  a  little." 

"Certainly,"  seconded  Mrs.  Morgan.  "We 
shall  be  perfectly  comfortable,  my  dear  Mrs. — " 

*'Miss  Varney,"  corrected  Miss  Varney. 

"Married?"  asked  Mrs.  Morgan. 

Miss  Varney  glanced  hastily  over  her  shoul- 
der, lest  Maude  be  near  and  the  inevitable  ar- 
gument take  place,  but  Maude  was  at  that  mo- 


134       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

ment  in  the  library  with  the  overwrought 
Tommy,  trying  to  determine  by  the  aid  of  the 
dictionary,  the  encyclopedia,  a  well-drawn  dia- 
gram and  the  Appleby  family  tree,  just  exactly 
what  her  last  name  was  with  due  respect  for 
her  individuality. 

"Miss  Varney  is  a  female,  my  dear,"  said 
Appleby,  "not  a  feminist.  Therefore  her  Miss 
means  a  mistake  somewhere." 

"What's  the  matter,  Ricky?"  asked  Vera,  as 
she  followed  the  others  in.  "You  look  as  if  you 
had  just  been  refused  a  divorce." 

"Worse  than  that,"  said  Ricky.  "By  jove,  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  going  mad.  The  wrong  child 
has  come." 

"Wrong  child?" 

"The  fourth  Mrs.  Fisher  has  made  the  hor- 
rible mistake  of  bringing  the  first  Mrs.  Fisher's 
youngest,  instead  of  the  second  Mrs.  Fisher's 
oldest." 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  FIRST  WIFE'S  CHILD 

MRS.  Alison  Drake  Fisher  Parker  was 
naturally  upset.  When  forty  millions 
are  to  be  divided,  one  does  not  like  to  have  one's 
second  husband's  first  wife's  child  on  hand  for 
a  possible  share  in  place  of  one's  own  offspring. 
The  fourth  Mrs.  Fisher  was  grief -stricken. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  protested,  over  and 
over.  "I  generally  can  keep  the  different  in- 
stalments of  children  separate.  How  I  ever 
came  to  make  such  a  mistake,  I  do  not  know." 

"Where  was  Fisher  at  the  time?"  asked  Van 
Tuyl. 

They  were  all  at  dinner,  Miss  Varney  having 
pointed  out  to  the  harassed  parent,  with  the 
help  of  the  rest  of  the  family,  that  nothing 
could  be  done  about  it  until  the  next  morning, 
and  meanwhile,  one  must  eat. 

"Mr.  Fisher  had  gone  to  visit  his  first  wife's 
children,"  explained  Mrs.  Fisher  humbly.  She 
135 


136       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

looked  so  charming  in  her  dinner  gown,  so 
crestfallen  and  anxious  to  rectify  her  mistake 
that  everybody  except  the  lady  concerned  had 
forgiven  her  at  once.  "You  see  the  law  gave 
her  the  children  but  allows  Mr.  Fisher  to  visit 
them  one  week  in  every  six  months.  Jimmy, 
the  law  gave  outright  to  his  grandmother." 

Stephen  sought  to  calm  the  unhappy  ladies. 
"It  may  be,"  he  suggested  kindly,  "that  Aunt 
Appleby  will  be  more  favorably  impressed  with 
Jimmy  than  with  Harold,  and  as  she  has  never 
seen  Harold,  we  can  all  pretend  that  he  is 
Harold." 

"Quite  right,"  agreed  Van  Tuyl.  "She  will 
put  Harold's  name  in  the  will,  so  he  will  get 
the  money  all  right." 

Mrs.  Parker,  instead  of  being  comforted,  was 
offended.  "That  is  absurd.  No  one  could  be 
more  attractive  than  my  Harold.  He  would  be 
sure  to  please  his  great-aunt." 

"I  don't  see  how  I  made  the  mistake,"  wailed 
Mrs.  Fisher.  "You  see  I  was  in  such  a  hurry. 
Still,  I  was  with  Jimmy  when  he  had  the 
measles,  that  is  I  engaged  the  nurse  who  was 


THE  FIRST  WIFE'S  CHILD         137 

with  him  and  I  spoke  to  the  doctor  about  the 
case  quite  frequently.  I  don't  see  how  I  got 
those  two  mixed  up." 

Mrs.  Bingham's  nurse  stole  softly  into  the 
room,  crept  up  behind  her  mistress'  chair  and 
whispered  a  few  words  to  her.  Mrs.  Bingham 
was  at  once  all  agitation.  She  arose  without 
an  apology  and  both  hurried  from  the  room. 
Miss  Varney  half  rose,  glanced  in  distress  at 
Ricky  and  then  subsided. 

"One  of  the  children  rolled  out  of  bed,"  sug- 
gested Appleby  and  the  others,  all  save  Ricky 
and  Miss  Varney,  agreed. 

"I  am  trying  to  have  a  small  device  put  on 
the  market,"  said  Van  Tuyl.  "It  is  not  very 
big,  but  I  know  I  shall  be  able  to  make  millions 
by  it.  I  am  simply  waiting  now  until  I  can  get 
the  patent  rights." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Ricky.  "Something  for 
The  Voice  of  the  People?" 

"How  absurd,"  laughed  Mrs.  Morgan,  who 
had  not  heard  the  name  of  Van  Tuyl's  paper, 
"a  cough  lozenge,  Freddy?" 

"No,  no,"  Van  Tuyl  shook  his  head  impres- 


138       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

sively.  "It  is  to  do  away  entirely  with  another 
such  unfortunate  occurrence  as  this  that  has 
just  happened." 

"Cast-iron  marriage  vows?"  asked  Appleby. 
"If  you  can  invent  a  fastener  to  keep  married 
people  married,  my  boy,  you  have  made  your 
fortune." 

Van  Tuyl  shook  his  head  again.  "Why  stay 
married  when  you  can  get  unmarried?  No,  my 
invention  is  a  small  metal  tag  which  can  be 
fastened  securely  to  a  child's  arm  or  leg, 
wherever  the  temporary  parent  prefers,  and  on 
which  is  engraved  the  name  of  the  child,  its 
parents'  names  and  the  date  of  its  birth.  There 
is  a  bigger  tag,  on  which  one,  a  great  many 
times  married,  can  have  engraved  the  dates 
each  child  spends  with  the  other  parent.  This 
is  convenient  where  there  are  a  good  many  re- 
lays of  children." 

"That  will  most  certainly  be  a  blessing,"  de- 
clared Mrs.  Parker. 

"A  godsend,"  cried  the  crushed  Mrs.  Fisher. 

Van  Tuyl  nodded,  highly  pleased.  "You  see 
it  will  be  of  assistance  to  nurses,  governesses 
and  housekeepers,  whoever  has  charge  of  the 


THE  FIRST  WIFE'S  CHILD         139 

child.  Mrs.  Fisher,  it  was  probably  the  fault 
of  the  governess  that  Jimmy  has  come  instead 
of  Harold." 

"I  think  it  was,"  agreed  Mrs.  Fisher,  glad  to 
put  the  blame  on  some  one  else  but  rather  fear- 
ful of  doing  so  in  the  presence  of  the  outraged 
parent.  "We  had  just  engaged  a  new  one  and 
she  has  not  got  the  children  straightened 
out  yet.  Mr.  Fisher  thought  the  other  one  was 
a  trifle  too  young.  She  was  twenty  and  had 
graduated  with  high  honors  from  a  school  for 
motherhood,  still,  Mr.  Fisher  considered  her 
too  young.  He  was  prejudiced,  I  think,  by 
having  seen  her  one  evening  in  the  Park  talk- 
ing with  a  young  man  while  Jimmy  and — er — 
hem — Jimmy  was  in  the  street  trying  to  steal 
a  ride  on  a  car." 

Mrs.  Bingham  returned.  She  paused  inside 
the  door  and  looked  sternly  at  Miss  Varney.  A 
hush  fell  over  the  table  in  the  presence  of  her 
evidently  calamitous  news. 

"Miss  Varney,"  said  she  coldly,  all  eyes  on 
her,  "Miss  Varney,  there  is  a  strange  man — " 

"If  he  is  looking  for  me,  I  am  not  here,  I 
have  never  been  here — I'm  not  coming  here — " 


140       ONLY  EELATIVES  INVITED 

Harkness  had  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  napkin  in 
hand,  had  disappeared  from  sight  in  three 
bounds  and  as  many  disjointed  sentences,  the 
last  of  which  reached  the  ears  of  the  startled 
diners  even  as  he  pushed  aside  the  thoroughly 
surprised  Mrs.  Bingham. 

For  a  moment  no  one  said  anything.  Even 
Mrs.  Bingham  gazed  in  silence  after  the  hastily 
departed.  Miss  Varney,  not  with  any  inten- 
tion of  doing  anything  at  the  moment,  but 
through  the  instinct  of  getting  on  one's  feet  the 
better  to  handle  the  situation,  rose. 

"Mrs.  Bingham,"  she  said  as  sweetly  as  pos- 
sible, with  just  a  mere  trace  of  coldness  in  her 
voice,  "Mrs.  Bingham,  we  often  have  strange 
men  approach  the  house.  The  plumber  occasion- 
ally sends  a  strange  assistant,  the  grocer  boy 
is  not  always  an  old  acquaintance.  There  are 
book  agents  and  business  men,  none  of  whom 
Miss  Appleby  cares  to  guard  against  on  the 
simple  fact  of  their  strangeness." 

"These  are  not  book  agents  nor  business 
men,"  declared  Mrs.  Bingham.  "They  are  de- 
tectives." 

"Miss  Appleby  has  tried  to  live  so  that  she 


THE  FIRST  WIFE'S  CHILD         141 

has  nothing  to  fear  from  the  law,"  returned 
Miss  Varney  pleasantly.  "Be  good ;  if  you  can't 
be  good,  be  careful,  is  what  we  have  tried  to 
live  up  to."  She  smiled  cheerfully  and  sat  down 
again  as  if  putting  an  end  to  the  conversation. 

"The  detectives  are  after  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Bingham,  her  voice  shrill  with  anger  and 
fright. 

"I  should  say  after  Mr.  Harkness,"  said  Miss 
Varney.  "What — er — offense — "  she  hesitated. 

"Offense?"  snapped  Mrs.  Bingham. 

"Why  are  you  wanted  ?"  asked  Ricky  shortly, 
helping  Miss  Varney  out  of  a  delicate  situation. 

Van  Tuyl  rose  and  pushed  his  chair  toward 
Mrs.  Bingham.  "Sit  down,"  said  he  kindly, 
"you  are  upset." 

Mrs.  Bingham,  barely  conscious  of  what  she 
did,  took  the  chair  and  a  glass  of  wine  Stephen 
handed  to  her. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  she  murmured 
hastily  and  turned  to  Miss  Varney.  "The  chil- 
dren were  spending  their  usual  three  months 
with  me  when  I  received  Aunt  Appleby's  invita- 
tion. The  decree  of  divorce  forbade  either  my 
husband  or  myself  taking  the  children  out  of 


the  state.  But  I  wanted  Aunt  Appleby  to  see 
them,  I  didn't  want  to  leave  them  behind  me. 
My  husband  was  out  of  town,  I  couldn't  ask  his 
permission,  and  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I 
thought  how  foolish  in  me  to  let  them  lose  a 
chance  of  inheriting  any  money  by  leaving  them 
in  New  York.  So — I  brought  them — with — 
me,  I  couldn't  come  alone,  I  couldn't  leave  them 
for  a  week  when  I  only  have  them  three  months 
out  of  the  year."  Mrs.  Bingham  bowed  her 
head  in  her  handkerchief  and  wept. 

Murmurs  of  sympathy  and  condolence  rippled 
up  and  down  the  length  of  the  long  table. 

"If  we  women  had  the  vote,"  cried  Maude, 
"we  would  never  allow  such  a  situation  to  arise. 
This  shows  how  the  laws  of  men  have  failed. 
A  woman,  deprived  of  her  children !" 

"I  know,  Maude,"  said  Tommy,  in  his  usual 
pitiful  blundering,  "but  until  women  can  have 
children — without — er — men,  it  seems  to  me 
the  children  are  half  ours — " 

"Half  yours!"  Maude  was  off,  but  Miss 
Varney,  emboldened  by  the  stress  of  the 
occasion,  checked  her  abruptly,  as  much  to  her 
own  surprise  as  to  Maude's. 


THE  FIRST  WIFE'S  CHILD         143 

"Stop,  Mrs.  Maude.  This  is  no  time  for  a 
discussion  of  women's  rights.  Now,  Mrs.  Bing- 
ham,"  turning  to  that  agitated  lady  in  the  sud- 
den startled  cessation  of  all  voices  but  her  own. 
"Now,  Mrs.  Bingham,  tell  us  just  why  a  detec- 
tive should  follow  you  and  what  you  have  to 
fear  from  one." 

"My  husband  has  heard  that  I  have  taken 
the  children  from  the  state,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Bing- 
ham, "and  wants  to  convict  me  of  kidnap- 
ing— "  sobs. 

"Kidnaping!"  cried  Maude,  her  eyes  flash- 
ing and  her  voice  trembling.  "Think  of  the 
foul  accusation — " 

Miss  Varney  rapped  sharply  for  order  and 
Maude  stopped,  while  Tommy  barely  sup- 
pressed a  gasp  of  boundless  admiration  for  the 
fearless  secretary. 

"You  did  not  kidnap  them,  though,  did  you?" 
asked  Miss  Varney  slowly,  patiently,  all  the 
others  looking  to  her  now  as  the  preordained 
leader  in  this  distressing  affair.  "You  came 
away  openly — " 

"No,"  stammered  Mrs.  Bingham,  while  the 
table  groaned,  "no,  I  was  afraid  to.  I — I 


144       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

sneaked  away  at  night,  I  pretended  I  was  going 
to  my  place  on  Long  Island — " 

"Write  at  once  to  your  husband  and  explain," 
ordered  Miss  Varney. 

"I  don't  dare  to,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Bingham.  "He 
is  so  mean.  He  hates  me.  He  would  come  at 
once  and  take  the  children— -" 

"Brute!"  from  Maude. 

"And  there  would  be  a  scene,  and  Aunt 
Appleby  would  be  shocked  and  would — not — 
leave  me — a — cent — " 

"Calm  yourself,"  said  Miss  Varney.  "Your 
husband  certainly  will  not  interfere  when  he 
learns  you  hope  to  have  some  money  left  the 
children  if  they  are  here  when  Miss  Appleby 
can  see  them." 

"He  would,"  insisted  Mrs.  Bingham.  "He 
disliked  my  getting  a  divorce  in  the  first  place 
and  was  perfectly  horrid  about  it.  He  filed  a 
cross  complaint  of  desertion.  And  I  did  not 
desert  him.  I  merely  insisted  on  living  in 
London.  Why  shouldn't  I?  All  my  friends 
and  interests  are  there.  But,  no,  he  would  not 
listen  to  me.  He  said  his  business  was  in  New 
.York.  So  silly  in  him,  so  unkind,  when  I 


THE  FIRST  WIFE'S  CHILD         145 

wanted  to  live  in  peace.  I  didn't  want  a 
divorce,  until  he  refused  to  live  in  London — " 

"Outrageous!"  cried  Maude. 

"Then  why  not  let  the  children  return,  while 
you  remain,"  suggested  Miss  Varney.  "Miss 
Appleby  will  remember  all  the  children  of  her 
nieces  and  nephews.  She  does  not  need  to  see 
them  all." 

"She  might  take  a  fancy  to  one,"  objected 
and  interjected  Mrs.  Parker,  "and  leave  that 
one  the  principal  heir,  don't  you  see,  my  dear 
Miss  Varney?  That  is  why  I  am  so  anxious 
for  my  Harold." 

"Of  course,"  admitted  Miss  Varney,  "there 
is  always  that  chance.  But  if  your  husband 
knows  that  you  have  the  children  here,  Mrs. 
Bingham — " 

"He  wants  to  be  sure  by  sending  detectives. 
If  they  can  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  children,  he 
will  have  a  case  against  me." 

"Has  any  stranger  seen  them  yet?"  asked 
Miss  Varney. 

"Not  yet,"  admitted  Mrs.  Bingham.  "We 
have  been  very  careful.  But  if  any  more 
strange  men  are  permitted — " 


146       ONLY  KELATIVES  INVITED 

"I  do  not  see  how  I  can  close  the  grounds," 
mused  Miss  Varney. 

"Get  a  woman  policeman,"  ordered  Maude, 
whereon  Mrs.  Bingham  turned  to  her  as  to  the 
proverbial  straw.  "I  will  telegraph  at  once  to 
New  York  and  have  one  sent  here.  She  can 
patrol  the  grounds  and  question  any  one — " 

"Miss  Appleby  may  not  like  it,"  began  Miss 
Varney,  but  Maude  waved  the  objection  aside. 

"She  can't  have  the  slightest  objection,"  she 
declared.  "A  policewoman  is  absolutely  in- 
valuable. What  does  a  man  know  about  the 
inner  feelings  of  the  women  he  arrests.  A 
woman  knows  women  and  children  and  under- 
stands. Women's  attributes  have  been  needed 
for  centuries  in  the  world,  gentleness,  tact, 
love—" 

"Will  that  satisfy  you,  Mrs.  Bingham?"  asked 
Miss  Varney,  quite  boldly  breaking  into 
Maude's  flow  of  rhetoric. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bingham.  "My  mind  will 
be  at  rest." 

"I  will  telegraph  at  once,"  said  Maude, 
rising. 


CHAPTER  XII 
HUSBAND'S  DAY 

NELLY  had  never  been  up  so  early  before. 
She  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  pleasure  as 
she  slipped  out  of  the  side  door  into  the  fresh- 
ness and  sweetness  of  the  dawning.  There  was 
something  so  delicate  about  the  new  day,  that 
she  felt  awed  in  spite  of  herself.  She  ran  down 
the  steps  to  the  lawn  and  there,  kneeling  before 
a  small  flower  bed,  sheltered  by  the  corner  of 
the  house,  she  saw  the  man  of  whom  she  was 
constantly  thinking  and  because  of  a  desire  to 
stop  such  thoughts  had  arisen  this  early. 

He  looked  up  and  saw  her.  All  his  face  was 
transfigured,  and  Nelly's  heart  slipped  a  beat 
and  then  rushed  on.  She  knew  now.  Once 
again  she  had  seen  that  look  in  his  eyes,  the 
look  she  had  wanted  to  see  and  yet  feared  to, 
not  because  she  was  married — marriage  had 
made  little  or  no  impression  on  Nelly — but  be- 
cause she  was  a  Drake,  great-niece  of  an  Apple- 
147 


148       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

by  and  he  was  the  fourth  assistant  gardener. 
He  was  "common,"  she  told  herself  over  and 
over,  impossible,  on  a  lower  plane  than  herself. 
Why  did  he  attract  her  so?  Why  was  she 
always  so  happy  just  being  with  him,  why  had 
she  that  horrible  sinking  feeling  every  time  he 
left  her?  She  felt  that  she  was  in  a  spell,  bound 
and  loving  her  bonds,  with  now  and  then  a 
gleam  of  sanity,  a  crushing  realization  that 
nothing  could  ever  come  of  these  strenuous 
feelings,  nothing  but  sorrow  and  heartache. 
In  these  sudden  rare  flashes,  she  knew  that  she 
would  rather  die  than  marry  him,  than  sink  to 
his  level,  much  as  she  loved  him.  The  mere 
thought  of  reaching  his  level  gripped  her  by 
the  throat  with  nausea,  only  to  pass,  leaving 
her  trembling  and  eager  to  see  him.  And  now 
he  had  risen  and  was  coming  toward  her  in  the 
joyous  flush  of  the  new  day,  over  the  dew- wet 
grass,  in  his  hand  a  superb  white  peony  with  a 
heart  of  delicate  pink. 

He  offered  her  the  flower  with  a  shy  defer- 
ence, though  his  head  was  up  and  his  eyes 
smiled  straight  into  hers.  Nelly  took  the 
flower  with  dainty  pleasure,  restraining  a  wild 


HUSBAND'S  DAY  149 

desire  to  throw  herself  on  his  breast  and  feel 
his  strong  arms  close  tenderly  around  her.  She 
wondered  what  it  would  be  like  to  be  in  his 
arms,  even  as  she  took  the  flower,  with  a  pretty, 
detached  little  air  as  of  being  in  two  minds 
about  accepting  it. 

"It  is  beautiful,"  said  she.  "Do  you  like  to 
take  care  of  them?" 

"I  love  to,"  replied  Reuben,  his  lean  face 
flushing.  "When  I  make  my  pile,  I  am  going 
to  have  a  flower  garden  and  take  entire  care  of 
it  myself.  I  like  to  fuss  over  them  and  try  ex- 
periments with  them,  but  I  never  have  a 
chance." 

"Why  not  if  you  are  one  of  the  gardeners? 
Doesn't  Great-aunt  Appleby  let  you?" 

"Oh,  she's  willing  enough  that  I  should,  but 
the  Union  won't  let  me,"  explained  Reuben. 

"The  Union?    Does  it  boss  you?" 

"No,  no,  certainly  not,  but  I  can't  tend  to 
flowers  because  that's  not  my  work.  Cutting 
grass  is  all  I  am  allowed  to  do." 

"But  you  love  flowers  so,"  cried  Nelly. 

"I  know  it,  and  I  could  make  a  great  deal 
more  money  if  I  was  allowed  to  take  care-  of 


150       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

them,  but  I'm  only  permitted  to  cut  grass," 
said  Reuben.  "And  talking  of  unions,  reminds 
me  that  we  have  decided  to  strike — " 

She  sat  down  on  the  bottom  step  of  the  porch, 
the  perfect  flower  still  in  her  hand,  and  he  sat 
beside  her  and  explained  about  unions  and 
strikes  and  pickets,  while  she  listened,  absorbed 
and  happy. 

Appleby  House  was  old-fashioned  and  meals 
were  served  at  stated  intervals  in  the  great 
dining-room  and  the  silver  tongued  bell  re- 
sounded through  the  house  three  times  a  day 
regularly,  summoning  the  worshipers-  The 
breakfast  bell  now  aroused  Nelly  from  her  ab- 
sorption. 

"Breakfast,"  said  she  with  a  little  move  of 
disgust.  "It's  so  beautiful,"  she  added,  dreamy 
eyes  on  the  tree  shaded  lawn,  "I  hate  to  go  in." 

Reuben  nodded.  "I  would  like  to  spend  the 
day  in  the  country,  flat  on  my  back  in  some 
meadow,  with  nothing  to  do  but  listen  to  the 
birds  and  the  brook  beside  me." 

"Instead,"  laughed  Nelly  in  one  of  her  rare 
flashes  of  sanity,  "you  have  to  cut  grass  and  I 
have  to  go  in  to  breakfast." 


HUSBAND'S  DAY  151 

She  ran  lightly  up  the  steps  and  waved  the 
flower  to  him,  gaily.  He  smiled  and  watched 
her  until  she  disappeared  in  the  house.  His 
eyes  softened,  his  strong  mouth  twitched  and 
standing  erect,  head  up,  he  raised  his  hat,  a 
loyal  subject  saluting  his  queen. 

In  the  hall,  Nelly  found  the  assembled  family 
anxiously  awaiting  the  appearance  of  Miss 
Varney.  Van  Tuyl  had  a  petition  of  some  kind 
in  his  hand,  spread  out  on  a  magazine,  which 
he  was  urging  Maude  to  sign. 

"Maude,"  he  argued,  "it  can't  be  that  you 
do  not  approve  of  husbands  in  the  abstract." 

"Maybe  she  prefers  them  in  the  concrete," 
suggested  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels,  sitting  in  a 
high  backed,  quaintly  carved  chair,  Stephen 
Mayhew,  Junior,  in  her  lap,  his  short,  fat  little 
legs  bare  from  knee  to  ankle.  Her  head  was 
gracefully  bent  and  her  cheek  rested  tenderly 
on  the  small  boy's  yellow  hair. 

"In  concrete,"  growled  Tommy,  who  was 
making  a  few  last  feeble  spurts  of  independ- 
ence before  he  became  hopelessly  crushed. 

"I  consider  that  a  sacrilege,"  declared  Maude, 
motioning  the  paper  aside.  "A  parody  on  the 


152       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

beautiful,  tender  Mother's  Day,  the  most 
sublime  day  in  the  year,  the  day  when  all  of  us 
turn  in  thought  and  public  honor  to  the  one 
who  has  reared  us — " 

"Not  nowadays,"  returned  Van  Tuyl  briskly. 
"Mothers  disappeared  entirely  when  women 
became  economically  independent." 

Cally  Brown  burst  into  tears.  As  usual 
every  one  had  forgotten  her  and  the  sudden 
sounds  surprised  them  all,  as  much  by  recalling 
the  mere  presence  of  Cally  as  by  the  apparent 
grief  she  was  suffering. 

"Why,  Cally,"  cried  Mrs.  Morgan,  "what  is 
it?" 

"I  can't  help  it,"  sobbed  Cally.  "You  don't 
know  how  tired  I  get,  working  in  an  office  all 
day.  It's  so  small  and  cramped  and  hot  and 
dirty." 

"But  Cally,"  cried  Maude,  "think  of  living 
off  of  a  man." 

"Horrible,"  declared  Appleby.  "Why  not  in- 
sist upon  the  man  living  off  of  you?" 

"I  know,"  sobbed  Cally,  unheeding  Appleby's 
suggestion,  "I  must,  I  want  to  be  economically 
independent,  but  I  get  to  thinking — I  know  it's 


HUSBAND'S  DAY  153 

wrong  in  me,  Maude,  but  I  can't  help  it — think- 
ing how  can  it  be  any  less  womanly  for  me  to 
dust  my  husband's  bureau  than  to  dust  my  em- 
ployer's desk." 

"Gaily,  Gaily,"  chided  Maude.  "Would  you 
give  up  the  breadth  of  the  outer  world  for  the 
narrow  confines  of  the  home?" 

"But  I  don't  see  any — any  breadth  in  the 
narrow  office,  typing  the  same  'follow-up*  letter 
every  day,"  wailed  Gaily. 

The  harassed  family  stood  in  a  semicircle 
and  strove  in  vain  to  think  of  something  com- 
forting to  say,  but  Maude  alone  found  words  to 
cheer  the  discouraged  comrade  onward  to  the 
goal  of  complete  manhood.  As  a  housewife, 
Gaily  was  first-class,  as  an  office  employee  she 
was  decidedly  third-class  and  would  never  be 
any  better. 

"Think  of  the  birds,"  soothed  Maude. 

"But  it  seems  so  hopeless,"  sobbed  Gaily,  "all 
my  life  nothing  but  a  typist,  because  all  my  life, 
I  have  to  be  economically  independent,  and  I 
haven't  a  business  head,  I  can't  seem  to  get 
along.  I  hate  it  so.  I  don't  like  business." 

"I   should   suggest,"   said  Appleby  gently, 


154       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"that  Cally  think  of  her  child  instead  of  the 
birds." 

"Why  think  of  birds?"  asked  Stephen  May- 
hew,  gazing  fondly  at  the  pretty  picture  Mrs. 
Von  Loben  Sels  made  in  the  quaint  old  chair 
with  his  little  son  cuddled  in  her  arms. 

Maude  was  distressed  at  such  ignorance. 
"We  must  do  exactly  as  the  birds  do.  They  are 
the  highest  form  of  life." 

"Great  heavens,  Maude,  lay  eggs?"  gasped 
Mrs.  Morgan,  who  had  failed  to  keep  abreast  of 
the  feminist  literature  of  the  day. 

Van  Tuyl  created  a  diversion  by  hastily  pre- 
senting his  paper  to  Nelly,  and  talking  very 
loud,  while  all  the  others  crowded  gratefully 
around  him  and  Cally  sobbed  on,  seated  in 
lonely  feminism  on  the  bottom  step  of  the 
stairs. 

"Now,  Nelly,  as  a  married  woman,  you  will 
feel,  I  know,  a  very  great  pleasure  in  signing 
this  petition  to  Congress  to  pass  a  bill  institut- 
ing 'Husband's  Day/  " 

"Husband's  Day?"  questioned  Nelly. 

"Certainly,"  said  Van  Tuyl.  "Husband's 
Day,  why  not?  Who  endures, — er — er — that 


HUSBAND'S  DAY  155 

is — er — think  of  the  heroism  of  it,  a  young 
happy  man,  care-free,  untrampled,  his  own 
master,  deliberately  sacrificing  all  that  makes 

life  sweet — er er —  Husbands,  you  know  are 

the  backbone  of  the  race.  Without  husbands, 
as  you  can  see,  there  would  be  no  race.  Now, 
surely,  you  feel  that  there  should  be  some  pub- 
lic recognition  of  such  self-sacrificing  hero- 
ism— " 

"Self-sacrificing  to  marry  me?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Alison  Drake  Fisher  Parker. 

"Self-sacrificing,  on  whose  part?"  sternly 
from  Mrs.  Morgan. 

"If  anybody  ever  sacrificed  herself,"  sniffed 
Mrs.  Bingham,  "to  make  a  man  happy,  it  was 
I." 

"Ladies,  ladies,"  soothed  Appleby,  "it  is 
merely  a  flight  of  rhetoric  on  Freddy's  part  to 
get  his  petition  favorably  acted  upon." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Nelly,  "I  think  there  ought  to 
be  a  Husband's  Day." 

"Ah,  then  sign  here."  Van  Tuyl,  forbear- 
ing to  answer  irrelevant  remarks,  presented 
the  paper  and  his  fountain  pen  to  her,  and  Nelly 
signed.  "Thank  you.  Now  you  are  one  of  us 


156       ONLY  KELATIVES  INVITED 

and  you  must  wear  our  flower,  the  emblem  of 
the  Day." 

He  put  the  magazine  and  paper  on  the  hat- 
rack  and  from  a  small  table  picked  up  a  vase 
filled  with  drooping  crimson  flowers  on  tall 
slender  stalks.  "I  had  these  raised  especially 
in  a  green  house,  forced  for  this  great  Day. 
Every  one  who  believes  in  Husband's  Day 
wears  one  and  is  proud  to  do  so." 

"What  are  they?"  asked  Nelly  taking  the 
flower  Van  Tuyl  handed  her  and  pinning  it  on 
her  breast  beside  the  single  perfect  peony 
Reuben  had  given  her. 

"The  symbol  of  the  Day,"  said  Van  Tuyl, 
drawing  back.  "What  could  be  more  appro- 
priate for  Husband's  Day  than  that  flower,  our 
emblem,  the  bleeding  heart !" 

He  glanced  up  and  saw  Miss  Varney  coming 
down-stairs.  Immediately  there  was  a  rush  as 
all  rose  and  hastened  forward  to  inquire  about 
Great-aunt  Appleby. 

"What  shall  I  do  if  she  comes  down  to-day 
and  Harold  not  here?"  demanded  Mrs.  Alison 
Drake  Fisher  Parker  in  an  agitated  aside  to 
Appleby. 


HUSBAND'S  DAY  157 

"Telegraph  Fisher  to  bring  him,"  suggested 
Appleby. 

"I  will,"  declared  Mrs.  Parker,  "but  pray 
God,  aunt  does  not  come  down  to-day." 

Miss  Varney  paused  on  the  third  step  from 
the  bottom,  and  glancing  over  the  heads  of  the 
others,  saw  Ricky  in  the  doorway,  smiling  at 
her.  For  just  the  fraction  of  a  second  their 
eyes  met  in  mutual  pleasure.  Miss  Varney 
smiled,  but  each  man  took  the  smile  to  himself, 
and  the  women  were  unimpressed. 

"I  hope  aunt  is  better,"  said  Appleby,  who 
was  nearest  the  stairs. 

"Will  she  be  down  to-day?"  asked  Mrs. 
Bingham. 

Miss  Varney  shook  her  head,  and  a  sigh,  half 
of  relief  and  half  of  regret,  swept  the  crowd. 
"Miss  Appleby's  attack  seems  more  severe  than 
usual,"  explained  Miss  Varney. 

"Dear,  dear,"  moaned  Mrs.  Parker.  "Why 
isn't  Harold  here?" 

There  was  a  sympathetic  murmur  and  Miss 
Varney  went  on.  "She  hopes  to  be  up  to- 
morrow and  to  have  the  great  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing you  at  dinner.  Meanwhile,  she  wants  you 


158       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

to  feel  perfectly  at  home  and  to  let  me  or  Mrs. 
Mainwaring  know  at  once  if  there  is  anything 
that  can  be  done  to  add  to  your  comfort." 

She  made  a  pretty  little  bow,  and  waiting  a 
moment  for  any  one  to  speak,  led  the  way  into 
the  dining-room  and  the  breakfast  table. 

"Vera,"  said  that  young  woman's  mother, 
drawing  her  into  a  shady  corner  of  the  porch 
after  breakfast,  "I  believe  I  shall  go  to  Reno, 
after  all." 

"Mama,"  protested  Vera,  for  a  moment  too 
startled  by  the  suddenness  of  the  declaration 
to  say  anything  else. 

"I  feel,"  her  mother  went  on,  "that  Aunt 
Appleby  will  not  recover  and  that  under  the 
circumstances,  it  is  useless  for  me  to  remain, 
indeed,  not  only  useless — but — er — rather  mal 
apropos." 

"But,  mama,"  protested  Vera,  "you  can't 
get  another  divorce.  You  must  think  of  Mar- 
jory and  Kenneth." 

"Marjory  and  Kenneth,"  repeated  her 
mother,  for  a  moment  surprised  as  to  what  con- 
nection the  children  had  with  her  divorce,  then 
she  smiled.  "But,  dear,  I  have  made  all  ar- 


HUSBAND'S  DAY  159 

rangements  to  leave  them  in  the  care  of  Aunt 
Belle  in  Maine.  It  was  sweet  in  you  to  think 
of  them—" 

"No,"  interrupted  Vera,  "it  isn't  that, 
mother.  Mother,  you  can't  go.  Marjory  and 
Kenneth  need  their  own  truly,  flesh  and  blood, 
faults  and  weaknesses  father." 

"Vera!" 

But  Vera,  launched  now  on  her  subject, 
rushed  on.  "You  can't  judge  whether  or  not 
in  the  years  to  come  they  will  dislike  him  or 
love  him.  They  are  as  much  his  as  they  are 
yours,  blood  of  his  blood,  and  they  need  him." 

"Vera,"  cried  her  mother  sharply,  "you  do 
not  know  what  you  are  saying.  I  know  their 
father  from  A  to  Z— " 

"And  he  knows  you,  mother,"  said  Vera 
gently,  remembering  her  father's  words. 

Mrs.  Morgan  flushed.  "What  do  you  mean, 
Vera?" 

"I  mean  that  Marjory  is  going  to  grow  up 
with  her  own  father,  not  a  half  dozen  warmed- 
over  apologies  for  such." 

"Vera,  how  can  you  talk  so?  When  a  man 
and  a  woman  no  longer  love  each  other,  it  is  a 


160       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

crime,  a  deliberate  sin,  for  them  to  go  on  living 
with  each  other." 

"That's  tommy-rot,  mother." 

"It  is  legalized  prostitution,"  declared  her 
mother,  quoting  from  her  favorite  uplift 
magazine. 

"All  of  us  women  are  prostitutes  at  heart, 
mother,"  sneered  Vera.  "Really,  it  doesn't 
shock  any  of  us  so  much  as  we  pretend  it  does." 

"Vera,  how  can  you  talk  so?" 

"But  it's  true,  mother.  We  are  brimming 
over  with  emotion,  we  are  silly,  nervous, 
hysterical.  We  are  being  swept  off  our  feet 
with  license.  That's  all  it  is,  mother,  license, 
not  a  new  freedom.  We  all  of  us  want  to  at- 
tract men  whether  we  are  married  or  not,  just 
as  much  now  as  we  did  fifty  years  ago.  The  only 
difference  is  that  now  we  can  get  out  of  the 
marriage  we  have  got  into  by  the  flimsiest 
excuse,  and  we  do  it.  We  are  all  rakes  at  heart 
— weak  driveling  rakes.  Tor  better  or  for 
worse/  means  simply,  for  'better  or  for  Reno,' 
with  us.  None  of  us  is  strong  enough  to  endure 
the  vows  we  take  upon  ourselves,  none  of  us  in 
jthis  generation,  anyway." 


HUSBAND'S  DAY  161 

"Vera,"  cried  her  mother,  "what  has  come 
over  you  ?" 

"Father,"  admitted  Vera,  then  paused,  her 
face  flushing  scarlet,  her  eyes  falling  before  her 
mother's.  Suddenly  she  leaned  forward  and 
laid  her  hand  on  the  other's  knee.  "Oh,  mother, 
forgive  me,  forgive  me,  but  I  can't  bear  to  have 
Marjory  judge  you  in  the  years  to  come  as  I 
do  now." 

"Vera !"  The  older  woman  turned  white  and 
stared  into  the  girl's  earnest  eyes  in  wounded 
pride  and  mother  love. 

Vera  sobbed.  "Mother,  I  have  always 
scorned  father,  always  looked  down  on  him  as 
not  worthy  of  either  of  us.  You  taught  me  to, 
unconsciously,  perhaps,  but  you  did.  I  grew 
up  to  think  him  a  brute,  a  cad.  Now  I  have  met 
him,  I  a  woman,  he  a  man  and,  mother,  I  under- 
stand as  I  never  did  before,  his  side.  I  love 
him.  I  know  he  is  weak,  but  I  know  that  I  love 
him  and  that  I  shall  always  love  him.  Good  or 
bad,  mother,  he's  my  father.  Nothing  can 
change  that,  nothing  can  alter  it.  All  the 
divorce  laws  in  the  world  can't  make  me  less 
his,  blood  of  his  blood,  with  his  faults,  his  eyes, 


162       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

ills  mouth.  I  am  his,  mother,  as  much  as  I  am 
yours,  and  the  woman  who  can  give  her  chil- 
dren life  and  then  for  her  own  petty  desires 
can  deprive  them  of  the  other  half  of  them- 
selves is  no  mother.  She's  an  egotist." 

"Vera,  Vera,"  her  mother  pushed  her  aside 
and  staggered  to  her  feet,  white  and  shaking. 
"Shame,  shame,  to  talk  so  to  your  mother." 

"I  am  ashamed,"  agreed  Vera.  "Oh,  mother, 
I  am  ashamed.  I  love  you,  I  shall  always  love 
you,  but  I  am  sorry  for  you." 

"Would  you  have  had  me  go  on  living  with 
your  father  when  he  deliberately  insulted  me, 
when  he  utterly  disregarded  his  marriage 
vows?" 

"Yes,"  said  Vera,  looking  her  mother 
straight  in  the  eyes,  "yes,  I  would.  He  came 
back  to  you." 

"Back  to  me  ?  And  what  is  that  but  warmed^ 
over  love?" 

"It  didn't  make  him  less  my  father,"  said 
Vera  stubbornly. 

"A  woman  has  some  rights  of  her  own  be- 
sides those  of  her  children,"  declared  her 
mother. 


HUSBAND'S  DAY  163 

"She  has  no  right  to  infringe  on  their 
rights,"  returned  Vera,  "and  every  child  has  a 
right  to  a  father." 

The  two  women  faced  each  other  a  moment, 
Vera  with  her  tear-wet  handkerchief  clutched 
in  her  hand,  her  eyes  red  and  her  nose  snivel- 
ing, her  mother  with  white  face  and  dry,  angry, 
hurt  eyes.  Slowly  the  older  woman  read  the 
accusation  of  weakness  in  the  eyes  in  which 
she  had  been  used  to  see  nothing  but  boundless 
love  and  admiration,  and  the  change  shocked 
her  as  Vera's  words  had  not  done.  Vainly  she 
strove  to  defend  herself. 

"Your  father  was  an  adulterer,  Vera — " 

"Most  men  are,  mother,  and  many  women,  at 
heart.  There  is  something  awfully,  horribly, 
terribly  fascinating  in  adultery  to  all  of  us. 
Father  fell  but  he  was  still  our  father.  He 
came  back,  he  wasn't  what  is  called  a  'bad' 
man.  Your  brother,  Uncle  Fred,  did  the  same 
and  you  looked  on  his  offense  with  leniency, 
mother.  You  continued  to  love  him,  you 
blamed  the  other  woman  in  that  case.  We 
women  should  try  to  love  our  husbands  as  we 
do  our  brothers." 


164       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"My  brother  was  not  faithless  to  me,"  said 
her  mother. 

"That  is  why  I  call  us  egotists.  We  suffer,  so 
we  won't  forgive.  Another  woman  suffers,  and 
we  forgive  the  man." 

"How  could  I,  an  outraged  woman,  go  on 
living  with  your  father  day  after  day,  when  I 
had  grown  to  hate  him?" 

"For  our  sakes,"  said  Vera  gently,  "Charlie's 
and  mine.  We  were  little  children,  we  didn't 
know  anything  was  wrong.  You  could  have 
hidden  it  from  us  and  left  us  our  father.  And, 
mother — "  Vera  paused :  "It  would  have  been 
as  the  Bible  says,  when  we  grew  up  and  under- 
stood, we,  your  children,  would  have  arisen  and 
called  you  blessed." 

"Vera,  Vera,  after  all  I  have  done  for  you." 

"I  know,  mother,  I  know.  You  gave  me 
everything  but  the  most  important,  the  most 
vital  need  in  a  girl's  life,  a  father.  You  petted 
me  and  spoilt  me  and  cuddled  me,  and,  mother, 
I  love  you  just  as  much,  but — I  should  have  had 
a  father." 

"When  a  woman  has  ceased  to  love  a  man — " 

"That's  logic  for  the  strong,  mother ;  you  and 


HUSBAND'S  DAY  165 

I,  and  the  great  mass  of  the  people,  aren't 
strong  enough  to  live  without  cast-iron  laws. 
If  we  get  married  with  the  grim  fact  staring 
us  in  the  face  that  once  married  always  mar- 
ried, we  would  put  up  with  a  lot  more  than  we 
do  now  when  we  know  we  can  be  unmarried 
whenever  we  want  and  can  sooth  our  rotten 
little  consciences  with  the  sophistry  of  the  pres- 
ent day  that  it's  a  sin  to  live  with  a  man  you 
no  longer  love.  That's  a  devil's  phrase,  mother, 
and  a  breeder  of  weakness,  not  strength." 

"I  can  not  stay  longer  and  be  insulted,"  re- 
turned her  mother,  going  slowly  toward  the 
door. 

"Mother,"  pleaded  Vera,  "I'm  not  insulting 
you.  I  do  not  mean  it  so  at  all.  I'm  insulting 
all  of  us  modern  women  who  get  divorces  and 
then  talk  twaddle  about  them.  We  ought  to 
stick  by  the  first  man  through  thick  and  thin, 
through  sickness  and  weakness  and  poverty. 
Only  by  being  strong  ourselves  can  we  breed 
strong  children,  morally  and  mentally." 

"I  refuse  to  listen  to  you  any  longer,"  and 
Mrs.  Morgan  swept  majestically  away. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE 

NELLY  was  restless  and  nervous.  She 
wondered  where  Reuben  was  and  what 
he  was  doing.  The  information  that  Miss 
Appleby  was  still  too  sick  to  appear  made  little 
or  no  impression  on  her.  She  had  lost  all  in- 
terest in  Great-aunt  Appleby,  in  Ricky,  in 
every  one,  but  Reuben.  What  was  there  about 
him  that  held  her,  she  asked  herself,  miserably, 
that  gripped  her  as  Ricky  had  never  been  able 
to?  She  was  shaken  as  she  had  never  been 
before.  The  mere  sight  of  him  satisfied  her. 
When  he  was  present,  she  tasted  a  happiness 
both  rare  and  complete. 

After  breakfast,  she  wandered  listlessly  into 
the  library,  intending  to  read,  but  paused  in- 
stead before  the  open  window  and  tenderly 
kissed  the  peony  he  had  given  her.  Then  she 
blushed  furiously  and  snatching  the  dainty 

166 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    167 

flower  from  the  front  of  her  dress,  crossed  the 
room  and  tossed  it  into  the  paper  basket,  telling 
herself  hotly  not  to  be  a  fool.  She,  an  Appleby, 
kissing  the  flower  of  an  uneducated,  common 
Jew,  her  aunt's  fourth  assistant  gardener.  The 
shame  of  it  burned  in  her  cheeks.  She  gazed 
down  at  the  flower  among  the  tumbled  papers, 
and  thought  of  Reuben,  of  his  eyes,  the  way  his 
thick  black  hair  fell  over  his  forehead,  the  way 
he  showed  his  teeth  when  he  laughed.  She  saw 
him  again,  approaching  her  over  the  lawn,  the 
flower  in  his  hand,  in  his  eyes  a  look  that  made 
her  thrill  happily  simply  remembering  it,  and 
the  tears  leaped  to  her  eyes.  She  stooped,  all 
tenderness  again  and  picked  up  the  flower, 
gently  smoothing  its  crumbled  petals. 

There  was  no  reason  why  she  should  love 
him,  but  love  was  never  yet  reasonable  for  the 
sake  of  reason.  She  knew  that  she  loved  him 
truly  and  deeply,  with  a  love  she  had  never 
given  to  Ricky  nor  would  ever  give  to  another, 
a  love,  the  like  of  which  she  had  never  dreamed 
existed.  But  Nelly  was  no  fool.  She  knew 
herself  better  than  any  one  else  knew  her  and 
she  had  no  illusions  on  the  subject  as  a  less 


168       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

sweet-natured  or  vainer  woman  might  have 
had.  Miserably  she  asked  herself  if  she  would, 
could,  let  her  love  triumph  over  her  up-bring- 
ing, and  always  doubted  her  strength  to  do  so. 
Would  the  man  be  all  sufficient  or  would  the 
worldly  side  of  her  cling  to  those  petty  things 
she  cared  for  that  made  up  her  life.  She  re- 
called the  stout  placid  Jewess,  rocking  stolidly 
back  and  forth,  with  her  pleasant  face,  big  and 
round  and  coarse,  the  little  child  in  her  arms  so 
distinctly  a  comical  caricature.  She  recalled 
the  two  little  girls,  staring  at  her  over  their 
mother's  shoulder,  jolly  little  girls,  but  so  pain- 
fully "common."  Could  she  endure  them  ?  For 
Reuben's  sake  could  she  overlook  his  family? 
After  all,  he  was  himself,  and  she  would  not  be 
marrying  the  family.  Why  should  the  family 
count  against  him?  The  Rubensteins,  too,  were 
not  vulgar.  They  were  simple,  kindly  hearted, 
uneducated.  Conventions  and  formalities  did 
not  appeal  to  them  with  their  primitive,  direct 
simplicity.  They  were  clean  and  wholesome. 
So  Nelly  told  herself  with  conviction,  and  yet 
the  thought  of  presenting  Mrs.  Rubenstein  to 
Great-aunt  Appleby  as  a  mother-in-law  was 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    169 

unbearable.  She  pictured  Mrs.  Rubenstein  in 
her  mother's  drawing-room  and  shuddered, 
though  she  told  herself  sternly  that  a  drawing- 
room  was  not  life. 

Van  Tuyl  hurried  into  the  room. 

"Hullo,  Nel,  coming  with  me?" 

"Where?"  asked  Nelly,  busy  rearranging  the 
peony  in  the  front  of  her  frock. 

"The  Voice  of  the  People  is  most  enthusias- 
tic about  Husband's  Day,"  explained  Van  Tuyl, 
rummaging  in  the  desk  for  his  note-book.  "I 
want  to  get  the  opinion  of  various  people  on  it, 
so  I  am  going  to  begin  with  my  friend,  Mrs. 
Hogan." 

"Mrs.  Hogan?"  gasped  Nelly. 

"And  why  not  Mrs.  Hogan?"  demanded  Van 
Tuyl.  "The  poor  form  just  as  accurate  opin- 
ions on  the  true  subjects  of  life  as  the  rich ;  why 
shouldn't  they  be  given  a  chance  to  express 
their  opinions?  We  are  too  used  to  thinking 
that  if  a  woman  has  a  million  she  is  a  worthy 
criterion  on  every  subject.  Now,  that's  all 
wrong.  She  may  know  the  technique  of  a 
Wagnerian  drama  better  than  a  woman  who 
has  never  had  a  chance  to  hear  one.  I  grant 


170       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

that.  But  petted,  sheltered  always,  what  view 
of  real  life  can  she  possibly  have  save  a  garbled 
one  through  rose-colored  glasses?  Read  any 
paper  quoting  opinions  of  people  on  the  various 
new  movements  of  the  day.  'Mrs.  Peters  when 
seen  by  a  press  reporter,  says  thus  and  so.' 
Now,  answer  me  truly,  don't  you  at  once  feel 
because  the  paper  quotes  her,  that  she  is  excep- 
tional in  some  way?  Certainly  you  do,  we  all 
do.  We  at  once  bow  down  before  her  and  make 
her  opinion  our  own,  when  nine  times  out  of 
nine,  she  has  only  read  articles  about  the  sub- 
ject on  which  she  herself  and  all  of  us  at  once 
consider  her  an  authority.  It  is  a  silly  dis- 
crimination. The  poor  live,  the  rich  read. 
Therefore,  The  Voice  of  the  People  goes  to  the 
poor  for  first-hand,  accurate,  clear-headed, 
human  opinions." 

Nelly  nodded,  enraptured.  Maybe  Mrs. 
Rubenstein  would  be  consulted  as  to  Husband's 
Day.  She  knew  the  opinion  of  that  stout  placid 
woman  would  be  grimly  logical  if  nothing  else. 
Van  Tuyl  made  her  feel  almost  capable  of  being 
her  true  self  and  taking  Reuben  for  himself.  If 
the  others  in  her  family  were  like  Van  Tuyl,  she 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    171 

knew  she  would  in  all  probability  go  straight 
to  the  man  she  loved,  but  she  knew  they  would 
not  be  and  the  fear  of  their  natural  surprise 
and  disapproval  restrained  her  nearly  as  ef- 
fectively as  her  own  aversion  to  his  family. 

"Coming?"  asked  Van  Tuyl,  snapping  a  rub- 
ber band  around  his  note-book. 

"Yes,"  said  Nelly,  always  grateful  to  him  for 
his  defense  of  "the  jealous."  "Wait  until  I  get 
my  hat." 

The  upper  hall  of  the  apartment-house  where 
the  Hogans  and  Rubensteins  lived,  echoed  and 
re-echoed  to  a  heated  altercation  as  Van  Tuyl 
and  Nelly  climbed  the  steep  narrow  stairs. 
Nelly  recognized  Mrs.  Rubenstein's  voice  and 
blushed  in  gripping  shame  as  for  something 
near  and  intimate.  She  glanced  at  Van  Tuyl  in 
fear  lest  she  should  see  disgust  on  his  face,  dis- 
gust for  her  as  well  as  the  voluble  lady  above 
them.  But  Van  Tuyl  was  mercifully  unaware 
of  any  connection  between  his  aunt's  house  and 
the  stout  Jewess  they  came  upon  in  the  open 
door  of  her  apartment,  arms  akimbo,  black 
eyes  shining,  expressing  her  opinion  in  the 
most  unmistakable  terms  of  scorn  and  right- 


172       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

eous  anger  to  a  crushed  humble  specimen  of 
her  own  race  and  opposite  sex  who  faced  her 
timidly,  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  carpen- 
ter's kit  in  one  hand,  trying  vainly  to  get  in 
half  a  word  somewhere,  somehow. 

"The  Voice  of  the  People,"  suggested 
Nelly,  with  unexplained  bitterness. 

"A  good  strong  human  voice,"  declared  Van 
Tuyl.  "They  know  what  they  want  and  in  the 
long  run,  they  get  it,  politicians  notwithstand- 
ing." 

"Aren't  we  people?"  asked  Nelly  plaintively, 
seeking  for  some  connection  between  the  two 
classes  besides  snobbery  and  jealousy. 

"We  are  but  we  hate  to  admit  it,"  returned 
Van  Tuyl. 

"Ach,  but  you  said  you'd  do  it  for  five  dol- 
lars, and  here  you  are  raising  it  to  six.  Six 
dollars  just  to  put  in  one  window — What?  Of 
course  you'll  have  to  cut  the  hole,  but  six  dol- 
lars for  a  hole!  What  do  you  think  we  are,  eh? 
The  head  of  the  Rothschilds?  John  D.  Rocker- 
feller?  Six  dollars?  Go  away,  we  don't  want 
you — " 

The  flat  door  slammed  with  a  loud  bang  be- 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    173 

fore  the  angry  woman  had  a  chance  to  recog- 
nize the  girl,  standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
listening  painfully  to  every  word,  but  keeping 
her  shamed  eyes  turned  away. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Van  Tuyl  of  the 
young  Jew,  who  turned  to  leave,  still  half  dazed 
by  his  reception. 

"They  asked  me  to  make  a  winder  in  their 
room  and  now  they  won't  pay  me  what  I  ask," 
replied  the  young  fellow. 

"What  do  they  want  to  pay  you?"  asked  Van 
Tuyl,  getting  out  his  note-book.  Instead  of 
mention  of  Mr.  So  and  So's  participation  in  a 
polo  match,  how  much  more  full  of  human  in- 
terest an  item  as  to  Mr.  Spitzenhammer's  dis- 
pute over  wages! 

"Five  dollars,"  sneered  the  young  man. 
"Only  a  dollar  less  and  it's  some  job  to  cut  a 
window." 

"You  make  the  window;  therefore,  you  own 
it,"  spoke  up  Nelly  suddenly.  "You  have  a 
right  to  charge  what  you  want  for  it." 

The  young  man  turned  to  her  rather  dazed, 
his  mind  not  yet  grasping  the  finer  claims  of 
labor. 


174       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Naw,  I  won't  own  the  winder — " 

"But  you  make  it,"  objected  Nelly,  her 
cheeks  blazing  as  she  applied  to  real  life  the 
words  of  her  hero.  "It's  a  law  of  the  universe, 
a  law  of  God,  not  man,  that  we  own  what  we 
make." 

"Not  always,"  contradicted  Van  Tuyl,  gazing 
in  surprise  at  the  usually  sweet  and  quiet  Nelly 
thus  rampantly  taking  up  arms  in  a  neighbor- 
hood dispute.  "We  can  make  trouble,  and  it 
won't  be  ours,  but  the  other  fellow's." 

The  door  of  the  Hogans'  apartment  opened 
and  Mrs.  Hogan,  having  heard  and  recognized 
Van  Tuyl's  voice,  appeared  in  the  aperture. 
Her  hair  was  unkempt  as  she  had  not  had  time 
to  brush  it  for  the  day,  her  dress  was  soiled 
and  her  apron  still  more  so.  She  was  still 
wiping  her  hands,  wet  from  washing  the  dishes. 

"Good  morning,"  said  she. 

Van  Tuyl  turned  to  her.  "Ah,  Mrs.  Hogan," 
said  he,  raising  his  hat :  "I  have  come  to  learn 
your  opinion  as  to  Congress  passing  a  bill  to 
institute  as  a  national  holiday,  a  Husband's 
Day,  with  the  bleeding  heart  the  flower." 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    175 

"Come  in,"  said  Mrs.  Hogan,  very  much 
flattered.  "Come  in,  Mr.  Van  Tuyl." 

Van  Tuyl  followed  her  in,  forgetful  of  Nelly, 
but  Nelly  was  so  absorbed  in  this  instance  of 
labor  struggling  against  capital,  so  often  and 
clearly  explained  to  her  by  Reuben,  that  she 
made  no  move  to  go  with  them. 

"Why  won't  they  give  you  the  six  dollars  you 
ask  for?"  she  questioned  the  young  Jew, 
eagerly.  Could  it  be  possible  that  Reuben  re- 
fused to  do  for  others  what  he  demanded  her 
aunt  should  do  for  him,  raise  his  wages  at  once, 
the  moment  he  demanded,  whether  she  could 
afford  to  do  it  or  not?  Was  it  possible  that 
Reuben  who  preached  on  street  corners  of  the 
brotherhood  of  the  poor  was  trying  to  beat 
down  a  fellow  workman? 

"They  say  it  is  too  much  to  ask  for  the 
work,"  said  the  Jew,  scowling  over  the  Ruben- 
steins'  parsimony  and  pouring  out  his  story  of 
injustice  to  this  girl  who  though  a  stranger 
was  apparently  sympathetic. 

And  Nelly  listened,  the  horrible  fact  bursting 
upon  her  in  all  the  radiance  of  truth,  like  the 


176       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

sudden  flash  from  an  electric  lamp,  that  there 
was  nothing  to  be  done  here  under  the  circum- 
stances save  to  strike.  Her  heart  was  beating 
fast  and  her  eyes  were  bright.  For  a  moment 
she  hesitated,  wavered  against  the  holy  cause 
of  labor  where  her  love  was  so  intimately  con- 
cerned on  the  opposite  side,  but  it  was  only  for 
a  moment.  She  recalled  his  burning  words  that 
morning  when  he  sat  at  her  feet  on  the  front 
stoop  and  poured  out  his  undying  principles  on 
her  willing  ears.  The  war  of  labor  was  a 
holy  war  and  the  man  who  wavered,  who  hesi- 
tated, was  a  traitor,  a  coward.  Though  her 
heart  bled  in  the  doing  of  it,  still  it  must  be 
done.  She  drew  a  long  breath  and  laid  her 
hand  on  the  strange  young  man's  arm. 

"Mr.— Mr.— " 

"Gottleib." 

"Mr.  Gottleib,  you  must  strike." 

"Strike?" 

"Yes,"  Nelly  nodded  her  head,  firmly  now 
that  she  was  finally,  definitely,  launched  in  the 
Cause.  "You  must  strike,  and  all  strikes  to  be 
effective  have  to  have  pickets.  No  one  must  be 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    177 

allowed  to  do  this  job  until  the  Rubensteins 
agree  to  your  just  demands." 

"Ach,"  said  Mr.  Gottleib. 

"I  will  help  you,"  said  Nelly  bravely.  "We 
can  sit  on  these  stairs  and  allow  no  one  to  enter 
the  Rubensteins'  apartment." 

"Ach,"  repeated  young  Mr.  Gottleib. 

Van  Tuyl,  some  little  time  later,  emerged 
from  the  Hogan  apartment,  stared  in  surprise 
at  his  dainty  cousin  in  her  bewitching  morning 
costume  of  old  rose,  sitting  on  the  top  step,  ap- 
parently in  contented,  but  silent  communica- 
tion with  the  young  workman  whose  services 
had  been  declined  and  who  was  sitting  stolidly 
beside  her.  Well,  thought  Van  Tuyl,  all  women 
nowadays  are  slumming,  the  fit  and  the  unfit. 
There  was  really  nothing  surprising  in  the 
situation.  With  the  lower  classes  held  up  to 
eulogy  as  they  are  now  in  story  and  play,  the 
surprising  thing  would  have  been  to  see  Nelly 
sitting  with  a  gentleman. 

"Coming  home,  Nel?"  he  asked. 

"Not  now,"  said  Nelly  shortly. 

"Er — er — do  you  want  me  to  stay?" 


178       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"No,  thank  you,"  replied  Nelly.  "We  two  are 
enough." 

"Too  many,"  thought  Van  Tuyl,  raising  his 
hat  and  hurrying  down-stairs. 

The  morning  passed  somehow.  It  was  clear 
that  neither  the  Rubensteins  nor  the  Hogans 
were  over-pressed  with  business  or  callers.  All 
the  morning,  no  one  came  higher  than  the  floor 
below  them.  Faintly  the  street  sounds  pene- 
trated the  three  flights  of  stairs  to  the  pair 
sitting  on  the  topmost  step.  Now  and  then,  a 
team  rattled  by  from  the  corner,  barely 
audible,  came  the  jangle  of  the  car  bell  and  the 
grinding  of  brakes.  Once  a  huckster  passed  in 
the  narrow  sunny  street,  calling  his  wares. 
Occasionally  the  front  door  of  the  apartment- 
house,  far  below  them,  would  open  and  the  light 
of  day  would  rush  upward  to  the  opaque 
twilight  above.  Once  a  man  came  in  whistling, 
and  tramped  noisily  up  the  first  two  flights 
while  Nelly's  heart  contracted  with  sudden  fear 
and  she  asked  herself  in  a  panic  what  she  could 
do  if  he  proved  to  be  a  strike-breaker  and  in- 
sisted on  walking  past  her  into  the  Ruben- 
steins'  apartment. 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    179 

As  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  mounted  up- 
ward, she  glanced  diffidently  at  her  companion, 
but  the  glance  was  hardly  reassuring.  Mr. 
Gottleib  did  not  look  strong  physically.  He 
,  was  tall  and  thin,  with  a  long  stupid  face, 
great  round  eye-glasses  and  a  frank  disregard 
for  collars.  Nelly,  listening  miserably  to  the 
approaching  footsteps  of  the  light-hearted  man 
below,  felt  that  in  the  strenuous  phase  of 
picket  duty,  Mr.  Gottleib  would  hardly  excel 
with  undiminished  luster.  While  as  for  her- 
self, when  moral  suasion  failed,  she  might  as 
well  retire  for  all  the  good  she  could  do.  Still, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  stairway  was  narrow. 
She  and  Mr.  Gottleib,  seated  side  by  side,  were 
a  rather  tight  squeeze,  and  that  was  to  the  dis- 
advantage of  the  attacking  force,  which 
would  not  be  able  under  any  circumstances,  to 
advance  more  than  two  abreast.  She  thought 
of  Horatius,  on  "yon  straight  bridge"  where  "a 
thousand  may  well  be  stopped  by  three,"  and 
took  heart  again,  just  as  the  man  below  turned 
off  into  one  of  the  third-floor  apartments. 

Long  before  noon,  Nelly  was  so  hungry  she 
thought  she  would  die  and  so  end  her  troubles. 


180       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Mr.  Gottleib  sat  like  a  granite  image,  silent, 
immovable,  apparently  immune  to  the  human 
failings  of  hunger  and  thirst  and  heat.  For  as 
the  morning  advanced,  the  heat  became  unbear- 
able. Save  when  some  door  opened  for  a 
minute  or  two,  no  breath  of  air  reached  the 
two,  perched  in  lonely  grandeur  for  labor's  sake, 
on  the  top  step  of  the  third  flight  of  the  narrow 
apartment-house  stairs.  After  what  seemed  to 
Nelly  a  long  and  well  spent  lifetime,  there 
came  to  them  faintly  the  myriad  whistles  of 
noonday  from  factories  and  train  yards.  Mr. 
Gottleib  immediately  reached  for  his  carpen- 
ter's kit  which  he  had  rested  on  the  step  below 
them,  and  placing  it  on  his  lap,  opened  it.  At 
once  the  hot  narrow  confines  of  the  strike  zone 
were  permeated  with  the  strong  odor  of  decay- 
ing flesh. 

"Oh!"  gasped  Nelly. 

Mr.  Gottleib  looked  at  her  curiously  through 
his  round  heavy  glasses  and  spoke  shortly. 

"Limburger." 

"Oh!"  repeated  Nelly.  She  felt  that  she  was 
going  to  faint. 

"Take  some."    Mr.  Gottleib  generously  broke 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    181 

the  cheese  in  half  as  nearly  as  he  could  and 
gallantly  presented  her  with  the  biggest  por- 
tion and  one  banana;  the  limburger  and  two 
bananas  constituting  his  lunch. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't,"  protested  Nelly. 

"Aw,  gwan,  I  can't  eat  it  all,"  lied  Mr.  Gott- 
leib  generously. 

Nelly  once  more  firmly  faced  the  situation  as 
it  was.  If  she  left  him  to  get  some  lunch,  the 
strike  breakers  might  appear,  and  alone,  Mr. 
Gottleib  would  be  worse  than  useless,  and  for 
the  same  reason,  she  could  not  send  him  to  buy 
her  something.  Together,  they  might  possibly 
put  up  a  feeble  fight  in  the  holy  cause  of  labor, 
but  alone,  each  would  be  able  to  do  nothing  but 
ignominiously  surrender.  She  could  refuse  the 
cheese,  but  one  person  eating  it  would  take 
twice  as  long  to  dispel  that  fearful  odor  as 
would  two.  It  was  self-preservation  to  eat  that 
cheese.  She  held  out  her  hand  and  in  the 
dimness  of  the  hall,  closed  her  eyes  and  ate. 

About  half-past  one,  the  front  door  below 
them  opened  and  two  men  ran  hastily  up- 
stairs. Fearfully  the  two  on  the  topmost  step 
listened,  and  Nelly  for  one  prayed  silently  that 


182       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

the  intruders  would  again  turn  off  into  one  of 
the  lower  apartments.  Her  prayer  was  un- 
answered. Young  Rubenstein,  followed  by  a 
stranger,  nearly  stumbled  over  the  two  strik- 
ers, waiting  in  cold  dread. 

"Hullo,"  said  he,  then  recognizing  Nelly,  his 
face  flushed  with  surprise,  jealousy,  pleasure. 
He  raised  his  cap.  "Howdy-do,"  said  he,  a  bit 
stiffly,  pausing  and  looking  from  one  to  the 
other,  unable  to  grasp  the  full  meaning  of  the 
situation. 

"How  do  you  do,"  replied  Nelly,  and  strove 
to  still  the  beating  of  her  heart. 

"Oh,  Gottleib,"  said  Reuben,  "mother  tele- 
phoned me  that  you  had  refused  to  do  the  job 
for  five  dollars,  so  Fve  got  Mr.  Murphy  here 
to  do  it." 

Gottleib  made  no  reply,  looking  with  bound- 
less faith  to  his  captain. 

Nelly  coughed  nervously.  "Mr.  Murphy  can 
not  do  the  job,"  said  she,  her  voice  trembling  in 
spite  of  her. 

"Can't  do  it?"  questioned  Reuben. 

"You  must  pay  Mr.  Gottleib  what  he  asks," 
insisted  Nelly. 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    183 

"Murphy  will  do  the  job  for  four  dollars," 
returned  Reuben,  smiling  tenderly  at  her. 

"He  can  not  do  it,"  declared  Nelly,  bold  with 
desperation.  "We  will  not  let  him." 

"Oi'd  loike  ter  see  the  man  thut  can  stop  me," 
said  Murphy. 

"Hush,"  Reuben  silenced  him,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  Irishman's  arm.  Murphy  hushed, 
muttering  sullenly,  and  even  in  that  moment 
of  fearful  suspense,  Nelly  thrilled  at  Reuben's 
power  to  control  men.  Her  hero  was  no  weak- 
ling. He  would  see  their  side  and  admit  the 
justice  in  it.  She  rushed  into  an  eager  explana- 
tion. 

"You  see,  Reuben,  you  must  let  Mr.  Gottleib 
have  the  job  for  six  dollars,  because  you  insist 
on  Great-aunt  Appleby  paying  you  ten  cents 
more  an  hour  than  she  does.  If  she  refuses, 
you  aren't  simply  going  to  leave  the  factory 
and  get  work  elsewhere,  letting  others  who  are 
willing  to  work  for  what  she  gives  have  your 
place,  but  you  are  going  to  refuse  to  let  any  one 
else  do  the  work  whether  they  want  to  or  not. 
So  we  can't  let  Mr.  Murphy  work  here  for  less 
than  Mr.  Gottleib  is  willing  to  take." 


184       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"The  cases  are  not  the  same,"  returned 
Reuben  gently,  realizing  the  impossibility  of 
arguing  with  Nelly. 

"Excuse  me,  but  they  are,"  insisted  Nelly. 
"You  do  not  like  what  my  aunt  is  willing  to 
pay,  and  yet  you  won't  let  others  who  would  be 
glad  to  get  it,  work  for  her." 

"But,  Nelly,"  explained  Reuben  in  the  tones 
of  a  father  to  an  erring  child,  in  the  heat  of  the 
moment,  neither  of  them  realizing  that  he  had 
used  her  first  name,  "but,  Nelly,  this  is  a  pri- 
vate affair — " 

"A  man  out  of  work  and  willing  to  work  for 
what  my  aunt  is  willing  to  give,  is  a  private 
affair,"  returned  Nelly  pleadingly.  Could  it  be 
that  her  hero  was  not  just?  That  he  had  a 
different  law  for  different  people? 

Reuben  waved  her  remark  aside  as  the 
puerile  inanity  of  the  very  young.  "We  can  not 
afford  to  pay  Gottleib  six  dollars — " 

"My  aunt  can  not  afford — " 

"But  this  is  private,  simply  between  Mr. 
Murphy  and  us — " 

"My  aunt  is  private — " 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    185 

"Nelly,  I  will  not  be  imposed  upon.  This  is 
America  where  all  men  are  equal  and  if  I  want 
to  hire  Murphy,  I  shall — " 

"You  shan't,"  said  Mr.  Gottleib. 

Of  what  happened  during  the  next  quarter 
of  an  hour,  Nelly  never  afterward  had  a  very 
clear  idea.  That  Mr.  Murphy  was  Irish  and 
red-haired  and  firmly  convinced  as  to  the  in- 
herent right  of  man  to  labor  where  and  for 
whom  he  pleases  at  whatever  pay  he  wishes, 
was  apparent.  It  was  equally  clear  that  Mr. 
Gottleib  was  as  firmly  convinced  of  the  divine 
right  of  unions  to  dictate  when  and  where  men 
shall  work,  for  whom  and  for  what  pay.  Nelly 
had  confused  recollections  of  tumbling  men,  of 
waving  arms  and  flying  legs,  of  doors  opening, 
of  people  crowding  into  the  hall  and  pushing 
up-stairs,  of  shouts  and  screams  and  swear 
words.  The  long,  lean,  spectacled  Mr.  Gottleib 
proved  himself  no  mean  champion  of  unionism. 
Even  in  the  midst  of  the  fray,  Nelly  was  aware 
that  she  had  misjudged  him.  Her  next  rational 
moment  was  when  she  came  to  herself  and 
found  Reuben  leading  her  down-stairs,  gently, 


186       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

but  firmly  and  hastily.  Above,  the  holy  war  of 
unions  versus  individual  freedom  was  still  be- 
ing waged. 

"You  are  not  fair,  you  are  not  fair,"  sobbed 
Nelly. 

Reuben  made  no  reply  until  they  had  reached 
the  street,  which,  generally  so  quiet  and  de- 
serted, was  rapidly  filling  with  an  excited 
throng,  eagerly  surging  toward  the  scene  of 
battle. 

"I  will  take  you  to  the  car,"  said  he,  taking 
her  by  the  arm  and  piloting  her  quickly  through 
the  gathering  crowd.  "You  can  get  home,  can't 
you,  alone?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Nelly  coldly.  Her  hero  was 
made  of  clay.  He  had  one  law  for  one  class 
and  another  law  for  another.  She  scorned  him 
now  as  deeply  as  she  loved  him.  She  wanted  to 
cry  because  he  was  not  what  she  had  fancied 
him  to  be.  He  had  not  measured  up  to  her 
estimate  of  him.  The  holy  war  waging  above 
them  was  entirely  forgotten,  of  minor  impor- 
tance beside  the  fall  of  her  hero. 

Reuben,  as  love-sick  as  the  girl,  clear-eyed  in 
his  new-found  longing  for  her,  realized  that 


SAUCE  FOR  THE  GOOSE    187 

she,  incapable  of  the  clear  logic  of  himself  and 
the  labor  leaders,  was  hurt  with  him,  that  she 
in  some  way  misjudged  him,  and  his  heart  was 
as  near  breaking  as  hers  when  he  helped  her  on 
the  car. 

"Will  you  be  all  right?"  he  asked  humbly. 

She  turned  on  the  top  step  and  glanced  down 
at  him.  He  was  looking  up  at  her,  still  clinging 
to  the  car  rail.  His  dark  eyes  were  filled  with 
reproach,  with  love,  with  anguish,  and  as  she 
looked  into  them,  her  heart  throbbed  quickly, 
she  felt  dizzy,  confused.  She  could  only  nod 
dumbly  and  turn  away  to  enter  the  car,  all 
athrill  with  perfectly  illogical  joy  that  he  should 
so  love  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  GAY  DOG 

PPLEBY  always  believed  that  if  he  had 
been  a  lawyer,  if  his  up-bringing  had 
been  different  and  if  his  life  had  been  slightly 
changed,  he  would  have  been  a  farmer.  Never 
having  lived  on  a  farm  longer  than  a  month  at 
a  time  as  a  "summer  boarder,"  he  knew  noth- 
ing whatever  about  a  farmer's  life,  but  judged 
it  to  be  simple  and  he  liked  simple  things.  He 
liked  to  prowl  around  his  aunt's  well-established 
stables  and  plan  what  he  would  do  with  them 
if,  he  being  the  oldest  living  relative  she  now 
had,  she  should  make  him  her  heir.  He  liked 
to  watch  the  high-priced,  registered  stock,  and 
to  go  out  in  the  small  dog-cart  behind  the 
blooded  mares.  No  puffing  motor-car,  no  hired 
chauffeur,  just  the  sweet  simplicity  of  the 
country  and  his  stylish  rig  for  him.  He  liked 
to  stroll  in  the  orchard  and  examine  the  fancy 

188 


A  GAY  DOG  189; 

pear  trees,  the  exotic  peaches  and  the  tenderly 
nurtured,  rare  grade  apples  and  estimate  the 
size  of  the  crop  and  decide  what  he  would  do 
with  it  if  it  were  his. 

The  lower  end  of  the  orchard  was  next  to  the 
meadow,  separated  from  it  by  a  picturesque, 
but  extremely  well-laid  and  well-priced  stone 
wall.  When  Appleby  reached  it,  at  the  end  of  a 
row  of  trees,  he  peered  casually  over.  The  long 
sloping  meadow,  bush  bordered,  was  a  pleasant 
place  and  Vera  had  taken  to  spending  her  after- 
noons there  in  its  sheltered  peace.  As  Appleby, 
half  expecting  to  see  his  daughter,  glanced 
over  the  wall,  there  was  a  groan,  a  mumbled 
oath,  and  he  found  himself  looking  down  into 
the  round  fat  face  of  Harkness,  blanched  to  a 
sickly  white.  But  there  was  a  gleam  of  bravery 
in  his  small  unhappy  eyes,  caught,  thus,  as  he 
thought,  helpless  and  incapable  of  flight.  He 
recognized  Appleby  and  the  color  rushed  back 
into  his  face  as  he  rose  angrily. 

"Well,  now,  Henry,"  he  demanded,  "what  are 
you  doing,  sneaking  up  on  a  fellow  like  that? 
Great  Scott—" 

"Hold  on,  Tom,"  said  Appleby  mildly,  rais- 


190       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

ing  his  hand.  "I  have  been  looking  at  the  trees, 
very  fine  orchard,  very  fine,  indeed." 

"Much  you  know  about  it,"  sneered  Hark- 
ness,  still  upset.  "I  thought  you  were  a 
stranger — " 

"See  here,  Tom,  what's  the  matter  with  you ; 
what  have  you  done,  that  you  are  so  afraid  of 
being  arrested — " 

"Get  over,"  said  Harkness,  motioning  to  the 
wall,  "and  I'll  tell  you.  You  are  a  lawyer, 
Henry;  I  should  have  asked  your  advice  be- 
fore." 

Appleby  leaped  the  wall  and  both  men  made 
themselves  comfortable  among  the  long  grasses 
with  the  wall  for  a  back  rest.  Appleby  re- 
moved his  hat  and  Harkness  kicked  aside  the 
papers  he  had  been  reading. 

"You  see,  Henry,  they  are  trying  to  serve 
papers  on  me — " 

"For  what?"  asked  Appleby,  coldly  profes- 
sional, regarding  the  fat  Harkness  in  the 
analytical  calm,  the  keen  scrutiny  of  the  prac- 
tical lawyer,  while  visions  of  milking  time  and 
fatted  calves  disappeared  in  the  dim  haze  of 
the  law. 


A  GAY  DOG  191 

"They — they  haven't  served  me — yet,"  said 
Harkness,  eying  his  companion  in  his  turn,  his 
round  dumpy  figure  sagging  dejectedly,  his 
thick  neck  showing  red  above  his  collar  and  the 
big  bags  of  purplish  flesh  beneath  his  eyes 
making  them  appear  even  smaller  than  they 
were  and  decidedly  sly  and  a  bit  too  sharp.  "I 
got  a  tip  that  they  were  after  me  just  as  I 
received  aunt's  telegram,  so  I  slipped  down 
here  without  letting  a  soul  know." 

"  Without  consulting  a  lawyer?"  asked 
Appleby. 

Harkness  nodded.  "Time  enough  to  consult 
a  lawyer  after  I  have  been  served." 

Appleby  grunted.  "Why  are  you  being 
served?  You  haven't  got  married  on  the 
quiet,  have  you,  Tom?" 

"No,  no,"  Harkness  assured  him  quickly. 
"No,  no.  I—they— lam— " 

"Yes,"  encouraged  Appleby. 

Harkness  glanced  at  his  companion,  turned  a 
bright  red,  verging  on  purple  and  looked 
quickly  away.  "Alienating  Gracie's  affec- 
tions," he  mumbled. 

Appleby  gazed  at  the  comical  little  man,  fat 


192       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

and  dumpy,  with  his  bald  head,  his  baggy  eyes 
and  his  fifty  years,  and  strove  kindly  not  to 
burst  into  roars  of  laughter.  It  was  grotesque, 
pitiful,  Harkness  sued  for  alienating  any 
woman's  affection.  Appleby  coughed  mildly 
and  gazed  earnestly  at  a  drifting  cloud  up  in 
the  soft  blue  sky  of  May,  his  professional 
courtesy  restraining  him. 

"Dummit,"  snapped  Harkness,  "laugh  if  you 
want  to." 

And  Appleby  laughed.  "Tom,  Tom,"  he 
roared,  "what  have  you  been  up  to?  Fifty 
years  if  you're  a  day  and  still  the  gay  dog !" 

Harkness  puffed  out  his  purple  lips  and 
frowned.  The  whole  affair  was  painful  to  him. 
"He  wants  two  hundred  thousand,"  he  mut- 
tered. "That's  about  all  I  own." 

"He  won't  get  it,"  said  Appleby  kindly. 

Harkness  had  the  pessimism  of  personal 
trouble.  He  shook  his  head  gloomily.  "He 
may." 

"No,  no,"  said  Appleby,  forgetting  his  pro- 
fessional etiquette,  forgetting  everything  but 
the  absurdity  of  Harkness  alienating  any 
woman's  affections.  "No  jury  would  award 


A  GAY  DOG  193 

him  a  cent  if  they  saw  you,  old  man.  Don't  you 
fret."  And  leaning  forward,  he  patted  his 
cousin's  knee. 

"Huh,"  grunted  Harkness,  "I  could  have  done 
it  as  well  as  any  man,  but  what  I  maintain  is 
that  she  didn't  have  any  affections  to  alienate." 

"How'd  it  start?"  asked  Appleby. 

"Why,  he  asked  me  to  his  apartment  and 
there  I  met  his  wife.  She  was  crazy  about  me, 
first  look.  But  I  maintain  that  a  woman  like 
that  has  no  affection  to  give  any  man  and  so  it 
is  impossible  to  alienate  them." 

"Quite  right,"  agreed  Appleby. 

"Why,"  the  flood-gates  opened,  Harkness 
confided  his  story  with  the  petulance  of  a 
spoiled  child.  "Why,  that  first  evening  I  was 
merely  civil  to  her.  She  sang  for  us  and  I 
praised  her  voice.  What  could  I  have  done?  I 
ask  you  that.  Told  her  the  truth?  That  a  cat 
on  the  back  fence  at  midnight  made  sweeter 
music?  I  could  see  him  chucking  me  out  neck 
and  crop." 

"Quite  right,"  agreed  Appleby,  once  more  the 
professional  lawyer. 

"She  was  with  us  the  whole  evening,  and  the 


194       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

next  afternoon  I  met  her  by  chance  and  we 
had  a  cup  of  tea  together,  and  she  loved  me." 
Harkness'  voice  broke  and  he  looked  on  the 
verge  of  tears. 

Again  Appleby  patted  him  kindly  on  the 
knee.  "Bear  up,  old  chap,  he  can't  get  you." 

"How  could  she  have  loved  her  husband  in 
the  first  place,"  wailed  Harkness,  "if  that  was 
all  I  had  to  do  to  win  her  affections,  take  her 
to  tea?" 

"Certainly,  that  is  clear,"  said  Appleby.  "No 
jury  would  find  against  you.  That  kind  of 
woman  has  no  affection  save  for  herself.  You 
can  easily  convince  twelve  men  of  that." 

"I  know,"  grunted  Harkness  uncomforted. 
"But  you  can't  convince  twelve  women.  This 
all  happened  in  Colorado  and  the  trial  will  be 
there  and  if  they  have  a  woman  jury  it  will  go 
against  me,  Henry,  sure  as  fate.  You  couldn't 
convince  twelve  women  that  no  matter  what 
they  think  individually,  their  sex  isn't  abso- 
lutely peerless,  that  when  one  of  them  falls  she 
falls  through  love,  and  so  if  I  had  her  love,  her 
husband  could  have  had  it  before  me." 


A  GAY  DOG  195 

Appleby  nodded.  "But,  Tom,  we  can  select 
a  jury  of  young  unmarried  women — " 

"You  never  can  tell  with  a  woman  jury," 
objected  Harkness.  "You  can't  argue  with 
them.  You  can't  convince  them  on  a  subject 
on  which  they  have  already  made  up  their 
minds.  Don't  you  see,  Henry,  I  must  escape 
being  served.  That  is  my  one  hope,  my  one 
salvation.  Why,  there  isn't  a  woman  in  the 
United  States  who  doesn't  consider  two  hun- 
dred thousand  cheap  for  a  woman's  love.  I 
tell  you  they  would  find  against  me  for  the 
whole  amount  and  I  don't  own  any  more;  to 
pay  that  would  break  me." 

He  pulled  out  his  handkerchief  and  dabbed 
at  his  eyes  pitifully,  sitting  all  hunched  to- 
gether in  the  shelter  of  the  stone  wall.  Ap- 
pleby patted  his  fat  shoulder. 

"Now,  now,  Tom,  don't  give  way  like  this. 
Bear  up,  man.  We  can  win  their  sympathy — " 

"Then  the  case  would  go  against  me  sure," 
moaned  Harkness,  "because  the  more  they  liked 
me  the  more  firmly  convinced  they  would  be 
that  she  loved  me.  Can't  you  see,  Henry,  what 


196       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

a  tight  place  I'm  in?  Don't  you  see  if  I  try 
to  fascinate  them — " 

"Er — don't  do  that,"  advised  Appleby  kindly. 
"It  might  be  too  hard — twelve  women,  you 
see,"  he  added  quickly. 

"I  know,  but  if  I  did  try,  and  they  liked  me, 
it  would  prove  to  them  that  she  loved  me  and 
the  case  would  go  against  me,  and  if  they  dis- 
liked me,  they  would  decide  against  me  any- 
way." 

"It  is  a  hard  case,"  agreed  Appleby.  "We 
will  get  a  mixed  jury — " 

"Then  the  whole  thing  would  have  to  be  re- 
tried, for  they  would  never  agree,"  objected 
Harkness. 

They  talked  long  as  they  sat  in  the  tall 
grasses,  in  the  shade  of  the  orchard  wall,  while 
the  shadows  lengthened,  and  the  dusk  of  com- 
ing night  approached.  At  last  Appleby  rose, 
saying  he  must  dress  for  dinner. 

"Don't  fret,  Tom,"  he  urged. 

"My  first  thought  was  to  go  abroad,"  con- 
fessed Harkness,  rising  and  wiping  his  shining 
brow,  "but  that  day  I  got  auntie's  telegram. 
She  has  forty  millions.  I  thought  I  would  risk 


A  GAY  DOG  197 

coming  here  and  she  might — er — leave  me 
something." 

Appleby  nodded.  "She  will  probably  be  down 
to-morrow  and  you  can  see  her  then  and  leave 
for  Europe  the  day  after." 

"If  I'm  not  served,"  said  Harkness  gloomily. 

He  decided  not  to  accompany  his  cousin  back 
to  the  house  through  the  orchard  and  pass  the 
stables,  lest  he  be  met  by  the  process  server, 
but  dodged  off  along  the  wall  to  the  distant 
side  of  the  meadow  where  he  disappeared  from 
sight  in  the  thick  bushes,  first  pausing  to  turn 
and  wave  Appleby  a  forlorn  good-by. 

The  great  house  basked  contentedly  in  the 
slanting  rays  of  the  afternoon  sun.  The  west- 
ern windows  were  all  ablaze  as  though  with 
their  owner's  forty  millions.  Veranda  and 
terrace,  lawn  and  flower  garden  were  deserted. 
Two  robins  chattered  shrilly  in  the  seclusion 
of  the  tree  branches,  but  no  voice  in  laughter 
or  song,  no  childish  treble  broke  the  silence  and 
peace  of  the  place. 

Harkness,  worn  and  wary,  emerged  from  a 
big  clump  of  bushes  and  assuring  himself  by  a 
quick  glance  that  no  one  was  in  sight,  started 


198       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

hastily  across  the  lawn.  He  reached  the  wide 
stone  steps  of  the  terrace  in  safety  and  paused 
a  moment  to  get  his  breath  for  the  ascent, 
when  around  the  corner  of  the  portico  appeared 
a  tall  gaunt  figure,  woman  below  and  man 
above.  Harkness  gave  one  agonized  glance, 
caught  no  more  than  a  horrified  view  of  the 
severely  tight,  severely  plain,  extremely  unbe- 
coming policeman's  coat,  took  the  apparition 
for  a  man,  and  with  one  dying  groan,  made  a 
last  desperate  ineffectual  attempt  to  mount  the 
wide  low  steps.  But  even  as  he  struggled  for- 
ward the  woman  sprang  with  awkward  agility 
and  grabbed  him  by  the  only  thing  her  hands 
could  reach,  his  coat-tails. 

"Halt!"  said  she- 

As  it  was  manifestly  physically  impossible 
for  Harkness  to  proceed,  he  halted. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  the  woman  in  the 
muffled  accents  of  a  fog  horn  with  a  cold  in  its 
throat.  "You  must  leave  these  grounds.  No 
stranger  is  allowed  inside  the  fence." 

Harkness  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  Clearly 
this  was  no  process  server.  He  turned. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  he,  puffing  and  wiping  his 


A  GAY  DOG  199 

heated  brow,  "I  am  Mr.  Harkness,  Miss  Ap- 
pleby's  nephew." 

The  policewoman  was  tall  and  thin,  with  her 
hair  drawn  so  tightly  back  that  none  of  it 
showed  beneath  her  smart  cap. 

Harkness  glanced  into  her  hard  unsexed 
face.  She  unbuttoned  her  natty  blouse,  put  in 
her  hand  and  drew  forth  from  a  breast  pocket  a 
note-book  and  pencil. 

"Name,  please,"  said  she  with  the  toneless 
animation  of  an  automaton. 

"Harkness,  Thomas  Harkness,"  replied  that 
gentleman,  still  mopping  his  brow,  with  one 
wary  eye  on  the  driveway  and  the  distant  gate, 
and  yet  with  a  feeling  of  pleasant  security  in 
the  gaunt  female's  mere  presence.  He  realized 
quite  plainly  that  no  process  server  could  reach 
him  now. 

"Age?" 

"Forty-five,"  said  Harkness.  He  had  been 
forty-five  for  the  last  ten  years,  so  it  rolled  off 
his  tongue  with  the  readiness  of  truth. 

"Occupation?" 

"Watchful  waiting,"  said  Harkness,  thinking 
of  Miss  Appleby  and  the  forty  millions. 


200       ONLY  KELATIVES  INVITED 

"Residence?" 

"Unfortunately,  Denver." 

"Denver?"  The  policewoman  paused,  pencil 
suspended,  and  looked  at  him.  "Denver?" 

"Denver,"  repeated  Harkness.  "As  soon  as 
I  can  return  with  safety  and  pack  my  apart- 
ment house  goods,  it  will  be  Salt  Lake." 

It  was  clear  that  the  officer  did  not  believe 
that  Denver  was  his  residence  and  equally  clear 
that  his  facetious  remark  was  to  be  ignored. 
She  left  the  space  for  residence  in  the  book  a 
blank,  shut  it,  snapped  the  elastic  around  it 
and  slipped  it  back  into  her  pocket.  Buttoning 
her  blouse,  she  took  Harkness'  arm,  firmly,  un- 
hesitatingly, determinedly. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  she,  and  led  him,  dazed 
and  unresisting,  toward  the  distant  gateway. 

Harkness  trotted  along  beside  her  in  a  mis- 
erable agony  of  self -consciousness  over  the  ab- 
surdity of  the  situation;  he  who  had  lived  all 
his  life  in  Colorado,  being  arrested  by  a  police- 
woman in  Connecticut.  Maude  would  see  only 
the  glorious  emancipation  of  woman  in  the  in- 
cident. Cally  would  probably  burst  into  tears, 
and  the  rest  of  the  women  would  be  more  or 


A  GAY  DOG  201 

less  serious  and  impressed.  Vera  would  see  the 
fun.  Her  dark  eyes  would  twinkle  and  her  gen- 
erous mouth  would  close  demurely,  but  she 
would  be  laughing  at  him  all  the  same.  Vera 
was  not  yet  a  feminist,  for  she  still  had  a  sense 
of  humor.  Like  all  little  men,  Harkness  suf- 
fered torture  when  being  laughed  at.  He 
glanced  at  the  grim  creature  rolling  along  be- 
side him  and  was  thankful  at  least  that  her 
skirt  was  tight,  as  it  enabled  his  short  legs  to 
keep  pace  easily  with  her  long  ones.  He  did 
not  want  to  call  out  for  some  one  to  come  and 
identify  him  because  he  hated  to  see  them  try- 
ing not  to  laugh,  and  he  was  certain  of  being 
able  to  convince  the  officer  who  he  was  before 
they  reached  the  gate.  He  failed  pitifully.  His 
words  fell  on  apparently  deaf  ears. 

At  the  great  iron  gate,  the  woman  relaxed 
her  hold  on  his  arm  a  moment  to  unlatch  and 
push  open  the  gate  and  as  he  waited  beside  her, 
coming  briskly  up  the  wide,  tree-shaded  street, 
Harkness  beheld  a  strange  young  man,  tall  and 
thin,  with  glasses  astride  his  nose  and  his  hat 
on  the  back  of  his  head.  In  every  stranger, 
Harkness  saw  a  possible  process  server.  He 


202       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

turned  now  in  a  desperate  break  for  liberty, 
but  the  policewoman  was  ready  for  him.  She 
grabbed  him  firmly  by  his  fat  arm  and  yanked 
him  around. 

"Young  man,  the  gate,"  said  she  tersely. 
"No  stranger  is  permitted  in  these  grounds." 

"I  am  not  a  stranger,"  pleaded  Harkness. 
"That  man  coming  may  be  a  process  server." 

"Better  than  a  spy,"  said  the  policewoman 
grimly,  looking  down  from  her  lofty  height  on 
the  poor  little  red-faced  man  in  such  evident 
distress  that  any  one  else  would  have  realized 
that  his  anxiety  was  real  and  not  assumed.  The 
woman  police  officer,  however,  was  not  to  be 
fooled.  She  knew  her  job. 

The  strange  young  man,  with  the  pleasant 
face,  approached,  and  Harkness  made  one  more 
forlorn  attempt  to  escape  and  was  once  more 
firmly  seized  by  the  coat-tails  and  dragged 
forcibly  back.  The  young  stranger  sprang 
quickly  through  the  open  gate  to  the  lady's 
assistance,  and  taking  Harkness  by  the  collar, 
whirled  him  around  and  sent  him  spinning  for- 
ward out  of  the  gate  with  a  force  sufficient  to 
propel  him  nearly  across  the  sidewalk  where  he 


A  GAY  DOG  203 

lost  his  balance  and  fell  on  his  hands  and  knees 
on  the  grass  plot  bordering  the  street.  But 
before  the  stranger  could  turn  again  to  the  lady 
to  offer  further  assistance,  he  was  himself 
seized  by  the  arms  and  violently  thrust  through 
the  gate  which  was  promptly  slammed  to  be- 
hind him. 

"No  strangers  are  permitted  within  these 
grounds,"  said  the  grim  voice  of  the  lady  he 
had  tried  to  succor. 

In  surprise  the  young  man  turned  and  stared 
for  a  moment,  incapable  of  speech.  Both  exhi- 
bitions of  strength  having  occurred  so  rapidly, 
he  hardly  realized  what  had  happened.  He 
started  to  raise  his  hat,  saw  the  upper  effect 
of  the  policewoman's  garb,  thought  he  was  ad- 
dressing a  man  and  let  his  hand  fall,  then  he 
saw  the  stylish  skirt  and  wondered  if  he  were 
going  mad.  Was  Vera  confined  in  an  insane 
asylum  and  was  that  why  Ricky  had  tele- 
graphed him  to  come?  Was  the  fat  gentleman 
whom  he  had  so  forcibly  ejected  for  the  lady's 
sake,  a  victim  like  himself,  another  Appleby 
relative  lured  to  this  crazy  house  for  some  wild 
scheme  ? 


204       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Harkness  picked  himself  up  and  the  two  re- 
garded each  other  a  moment  in  silence. 

"Move  on,"  said  the  stern  voice  of  the  law 
through  the  high  iron  gate. 

Sammy  Van  Fleet  raised  his  hat.  "Pardon 
me—" 

"Move  on.  No  strangers  are  allowed  within 
these  grounds." 

"I  am  Van  Fleet,  Sam  Van  Fleet—" 

"I  will  give  you  fifteen  minutes  to  go  to  the 
station  and  leave  town.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  if  you  are  not  gone,  I  shall  arrest  you." 

"I  am  Harkness,"  said  Harkness,  meekly  to 
Sammy,  ignoring  for  a  moment  the  law's  ulti- 
matum, "a  nephew  of  Miss  Appleby's." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Sammy,  shaking  hands,  while 
the  ominous  click  of  an  opening  watch  could 
be  heard.  "I'm  Van  Fleet.  Doubtless  you 
know  Vera.  Tell  me  where  is  she?" 

"There,"  said  Harkness  quickly,  to  relieve 
the  youth's  distress.  "She's  all  right — " 

"Not — er — forcibly  confined?" 

"Not  in  this  place,"  said  Harkness  grimly. 
"Here  we  are  forcibly  ejected." 

His  eye  caught  Van  Fleet's.    For  one  ago- 


A  GAY  DOG  205 

nized  moment,  both  strove  for  self-control. 
Sammy  lost  it  first.  He  snickered.  Harkness 
roared,  then  Van  Fleet  roared.  He  leaned 
against  the  fence  and  laughed  until  he  cried. 
Harkness  put  a  hand  on  each  hip,  doubled  up, 
slapped  his  knees,  wept  aloud. 

For  a  moment  the  woman  watched  them, 
then  the  sudden  conviction  of  what  a  mistake 
she  had  made  rushed  upon  her.  What  would 
they  think  of  her.  Harkness  straightened  up 
abruptly  and  stopped  laughing.  He  had  caught 
the  sound  of  a  woman  crying.  It  was  pathetic. 
His  kind  little  heart  was  touched.  He  drew 
near  the  gate  and  reaching  through  the  bars, 
diffidently  patted  the  officer's  shoulder. 

"There,  there,"  he  soothed,  "don't  do  that. 
It's  all  right,  only  a  mistake.  Here,  Sam,  shut 
up.  What  the  deuce  are  you  laughing  at?" 

Sam  was  helpless,  on  the  verge  of  hysterics. 
He  leaned  against  the  fence  and  his  head  rolled 
from  side  to  side.  The  harder  he  tried  to  stop 
the  louder  he  laughed,  peal  after  peal  of  sense- 
less laughter,  breaking  the  evening  hush  of  the 
wide,  tree-shaded  street,  with  its  pleasant  vista 
of  great  houses  and  spreading  lawns. 


206       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Harkness  frowned  at  him,  felt  his  own  lips 
twitching  again  and  hastily  unlatched  the  now 
defenseless  gate  and  entered.  Gently,  his  pity 
sweeping  aside  his  shyness,  he  took  the  weep- 
ing woman  by  the  arm  and  led  her  down  a  side 
path  to  a  secluded  bower  where  she  could  have 
her  cry  out.  There  were  a  seat  and  a  table  in 
the  small  evergreen  retreat  and  Harkness 
pushed  her  into  the  seat  and  then  coughed  vio- 
lently as  faint  and  far-away  there  yet  reached 
him  muffled  gasps  of  laughter.  The  officer  put 
her  hand  in  a  manly  hip  pocket  in  her  skirt, 
concealed  by  the  length  of  her  blouse,  and  draw- 
ing forth  a  small  square  of  cambric  dabbed 
at  her  eyes  and  sniffed. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  didn't  believe  you,"  said 
she  humbly,  looking  across  the  table  at  Hark- 
ness, her  eyes  swollen  and  wet,  her  nose  red. 

"That's  all  right,  that's  all  right,"  Harkness 
assured  her,  leaning  forward  to  pat  her  hand. 
"Any  one  would  have  done  the  same,  a  common 
mistake.  Really,  until  I  am  introduced,  no  one 
ever  recognizes  me." 

The  woman  nodded  and  felt  of  her  natty  cap 
to  be  sure  it  was  straight.  "You  see  I  had  not 


A  GAY  DOG  207 

seen  you.  I  came  about  four  and  Mrs. — Miss 
Lane,  Mrs.  Maude — Miss  Peters — " 

"Mrs.  Maude  will  do,"  said  Harkness.  "Of 
course,  I  can  see  how  it  would  happen." 

"She  said  she  had  showed  me  all  of  you — 

"Precisely,"  declared  Harkness.  "You  did 
quite  right." 

"You  won't  tell?" 

"I  swear  I  won't." 

"But  Mr.  Van  Fleet?" 

"I'll  fix  him  so  he  won't  tell  either.  You  wait 
here," 

Harkness  found  Sammy  staggering  up  the 
drive  like  a  drunken  man,  striving  for  con- 
trol, but  every  other  minute,  going  off  into 
paroxysms  that  made  his  ribs  and  jaws  ache. 

"Hul-l-lo,"  he  gasped  as  Harkness  took  him 
by  the  arm.  "Oh!  oh!  oh!" 

"Don't  do  that,"  ordered  Harkness  sternly, 
with  unwonted  dignity.  "Give  the  poor  crea- 
ture a  show,  Sam.  She  is  mortified  to  death. 
If  this  gets  out,  I  will  hold  you  personally  re- 
sponsible." 

"Die  first,"  promised  Sammy.  "Oh,  mama, 
help  me,  save  me,  oh !  oh !  oh !" 


208       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Harkness,  satisfied,  returned  to  the  weeping 
maiden  in  the  bower,  and  Sammy  reeled  on  to 
the  house.  Vera  had  seen  him  from  her  win- 
dow and  was  on  the  porch  to  meet  him. 

«H— h— ullo,"  he  sputtered. 

"Hullo,"  said  Vera,  looking  down  on  him  as 
he  paused  on  the  bottom  step.  "Sammy,  what 
is  the  matter?" 

Sammy  sat  down  and  laughted  helplessly  into 
his  handkerchief.  "I — I — I — lost  my  hat." 

"Here's  your  hat,"  said  Vera  coldly,  wonder- 
ing if  he  had  been  drinking  and  why  he  had 
come. 

"I — I — know,  I — I — got  it  a — a — again,  but 
the — the — the  wind,  oh,  oh,  Vera,  it  was 
f—f— funny." 

"It  must  have  been,"  agreed  Vera,  trying  to 
laugh  and  deciding  that  there  was  something 
funnier  than  usual  on  such  an  occasion.  She 
had  been  present  several  times  when  Sammy 
had  lost  his  hat  on  a  gusty  day  and  out  of  all 
the  pleased  crowd  which  generally  gathered  to 
watch  appreciatively  the  pursuit,  Sammy 
seemed  the  only  one  who  invariably  failed  to 
see  anything  funny  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  DISTRIBUTOR  OF  MILLIONS 


VARNEY,  I  am  in  greaWper- 
plexity." 

Pretty  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  paused  in  the 
doorway  and  with  her  hands  clasped  before  her 
looked  appealingly  at  the  desk  where  Miss  Var- 
ney  was  hastily  scribbling  a  note  before  din- 
ner. Miss  Varney  raised  her  pretty  eyes  and 
glanced  instinctively  at  the  clock.  It  was  five 
minutes  of  seven.  Seven  was  the  dinner  hour 
at  Appleby  House.  Her  note  was  personally 
important  and  but  half  finished.  With  a  hero- 
ically suppressed  sigh,  she  turned  to  her  duty, 
her  mistress'  guest. 

"Come  and  tell  me  about  it,"  said  she,  with 
her  charming  smile,  as  she  slipped  her  unfin- 
ished note  into  the  desk  drawer  with  one  hand 
and  motioned  to  a  near-by  chair. 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  seated  herself  grace- 
fully, paused  a  moment,  her  delicate  brows 
209 


210       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

knitted,  her  black  eyes  on  the  floor,  then  she 
turned  suddenly  to  the  secretary  and  leaning 
forward,  confidingly  rested  her  soft  little  hand 
on  Miss  Varney's. 

"I  am  an  artist,"  said  she,  by  way  of  be- 
ginning. 

"How  lovely,"  exclaimed  Miss  Varney.  "Do 
tell  me  in  what?  Music — " 

"Painting,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels 
with  a  pleased  little  nod.  "I  have  studied  un- 
der some  of  the  very  best  modern  instructors." 

"How  delightful,"  Miss  Varney  cooed. 

"I  never  really  intended  to  exhibit  any  of  my 
work — just  the  work  itself  satisfies  the  soul  of 
an  artist."  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  sighed. 

"Indeed  it  must,"  agreed  her  confidante.  "I 
have  always  longed  to  be  able  to  create — " 

"Ah,  it  is  divine,"  breathed  Mrs.  Von  Loben 
Sels,  gently  squeezing  the  other's  hand.  "Un- 
til you  do,  you  will  never  know  what  true  bliss 
is,  the  complete  soul  satisfaction — " 

"Indeed,  it  must  be  so,"  interrupted  Miss 
Varney  to  hasten  the  confession,  one  ear  on  the 
voices  in  the  hall  as  the  family  gathered  for 
dinner,  the  other  waiting  for  the  silvery  chimes 


DISTRIBUTOR  OF  MILLIONS       211 

of  the  great  clock  in  the  corner.  "Your  per- 
plexity, I  hope,  is  not  about  your  work." 

"It  is."  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  nodded  em- 
phatically. "It  is,  Miss  Varney.  I  never  in- 
tended to  exhibit  my  work,  but  urged  by  my 
friends,  I  at  last  sent  a  picture  to  the  com- 
mittee— " 

"And  it  was  taken!"  cried  Miss  Varney  as 
joyously  as  though  she  really  cared. 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  nodded  a  bit  grimly. 
"It  was  taken.  I  have  received  a  great  deal  of 
praise  and  I  hear  that  the  picture  has  been 
hung  in  the  most  conspicuous  place  and  called 
in  the  catalog  the  finest  example  of  the  mod- 
ern school." 

"How  lovely.    I  must  congratu — " 

"Wait."  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  raised  her 
hand.  "It  seems  that  the  wrong  picture  was 
sent  to  the  committee  by  mistake,  not  the— er — 
the  one  I — er — intended,  not  the  one  I 
painted — " 

"Not  the  one  you  painted?"  stammered  Miss 
Varney.  "Dear  me,  did  some  one  else  paint  it?" 

"My  little  boy." 

"But  he  is  only  four." 


?;12       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"I  know,  but  the  day  I  was  working  on  the 
picture  I  planned  to  send  to  the  exhibit,  he 
was  playing  around  near  me.  I  dropped  my 
palette  covered  with  fresh  paint.  It  fell  face 
downward  on  an  extra  canvass  that  happened 
to  be  flat  on  the  floor.  I  tried  to  pick  the  palette 
up,  but  it  stuck  and  I  got  a  new  one.  I  did  not 
notice  what  baby  was  doing,  but  it  seems  he 
managed  to  drag  the  palette  off,  spreading  the 
paint  all  over  the  canvas,  then  he  took  an  old 
brush  and  dabbed  the  colors  together.  When 
he  was  done,  he  drew  my  attention  to  it  and 
to  amuse  him  I  set  the  canvass  up  with  my  fin- 
ished work.  I  find  now  that  that  was  the  pic- 
ture the  butler  crated  in  my  absence  and  sent 
to  the  committee. 

"The  committee  wrote  me  that  it  was  su- 
perb, that  as  they  found  I  had  not  named  it, 
they  called  it  Female  Casting  a  Ballot." 

"You  have  written,  explaining  the  mistake?" 
asked  Miss  Varney. 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  shook  her  pretty  head. 
"No,"  said  she  slowly,  "that  is  what  I  can  not 
decide.  Ought  I  write,  or  would  it  be  best  to  say 
nothing  and  leave  all  in  the  hands  of  the  com- 
mittee?" She  paused  in  sweet  humility.  Was 


DISTRIBUTOR  OF  MILLIONS       213 

it  for  her  to  question  the  decisions  of  that 
august  body?  But  Miss  Varney's  glance  was 
not  acquiescent.  She  shook  her  head,  as  though 
in  doubt. 

"What  would  you  do?"  asked  Mrs.  Von  Lo- 
ben  Sels  plaintively. 

"Oh,"  protested  Miss  Varney  hastily,  "you 
should  consult  a  wiser  person  than  I." 

The  door  opened  and  the  family  straggled  in 
like  aimless  sheep,  looking  for  Miss  Varney  as 
the  shepherdess  who  would  provide  their  even- 
ing meal. 

"Ask  them,"  suggested  Miss  Varney  quickly, 
as  she  rose  to  the  seven  melodious  chimes  of  the 
old-fashioned  clock. 

"No,  no,"  begged  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  in  a 
whisper,  catching  Miss  Varney's  hand,  "no,  no, 
dear  Miss  Varney." 

Miss  Varney  patted  her  hand  reassuringly  as 
to  her  own  secrecy,  and  hurried  to  the  door, 
nodding  gaily  at  the  others.  In  the  doorway 
she  paused  and  turned  to  them. 

"Dinner  should  be  ready,"  said  she.  "I  am 
going  to  see  what  the  trouble  is." 

She  nodded  merrily,  turned  to  leave  and  as 
quickly  turned  back  again-  She  stepped  ha- 


214       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

stily  into  the  room,  softly  closing  the  door  be- 
hind her  and  glancing  swiftly  over  the  crowd. 
Her  eyes  caught  Ricky's  and  sent  him  a  plea 
for  help;  he  responded  quickly,  and  reassur- 
ingly. 

"Dear  people,"  said  she  in  a  low  hurried 
voice,  her  delicate  hands  clasped,  "Miss  Ap- 
pleby  is  coming  down-stairs.  She  has  done  this 
to  surprise  us." 

She  paused.  No  one  spoke.  Each  thought 
vaguely  of  that  forty  million  yet  to  be  dis- 
tributed. 

Miss  Varney  still  hesitated  and  it  was  plain 
that  she  had  something  more  to  say.  She  had 
become  grave  and  her  sweet  eyes  were  full  of 
perplexity,  an  earnest  plea  for  pardon  if  she 
hurt  their  feelings. 

"Dear  people,"  said  she  again,  one  hand  be- 
hind her,  reaching  for  the  door-knob,  "dear 
people,  she  does  not — approve  of — divorce." 

In  one  last  swift  glance,  her  eyes  sought 
Ricky's,  then  she  turned  and  went  quickly  out 
and  down  the  hall,  leaving  the  door  open  be- 
hind her. 

The  room  was  very  still,  seeming  to  be  full 


DISTRIBUTOR  OF  MILLIONS       215 

of  a  painful  hush  and  none  cared  to  look  at  his 
neighbor.  Miss  Appleby,  the  distributor  of 
forty  millions,  did  not  approve  of  divorce.  The 
announcement  was  appalling,  astounding, 
hardly  believable. 

"If  she  does  not  approve  of  divorce,  she  is 
very  ignorant  of  the  higher  ideals  of  woman- 
hood," said  Maude  boldly,  as  a  small  boy  whis- 
tles when  passing  a  graveyard  at  night. 

The  others  nodded  feebly. 

"Divorce,  while  no  longer  a  disgrace,  is  in- 
deed an  honor,"  continued  Maude,  braver  than 
the  others,  in  the  thankful  thought  that  she 
was  not  divorced  and  Great-aunt  Appleby 
could  find  no  fault  with  her  on  that  score. 
Forty  millions  would  be  a  delightful  addition 
to  any  one's  bank  account  and  Maude  was  as 
anxious  as  any  of  the  others  as  to  its  ultimate 
disposal. 

There  was  no  time  to  say  more.  Miss  Ap- 
pleby appeared  in  the  doorway,  Miss  Varney 
beside  her.  She  was  a  sprightly  little  woman, 
with  a  round,  wrinkled  face,  gentle  and  kindly. 
Her  white  hair  was  arranged  in  a  charming 
coiffure,  softening  the  outlines  of  her  face  and 


216       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

counteracting  the  deep  wrinkles  of  sickness 
under  her  eyes  and  around  her  mouth.  There 
was  a  flush  of  excitement  on  each  old  cheek  and 
her  eyes  were  bright.  Her  short  breath  and  the 
evident  nervous  twitching  of  her  hands  be- 
trayed how  sick  she  had  been  and  still  was. 

She  entered  eagerly  in  her  haste  to  greet  her 
relatives,  a  bit  in  advance  of  her  companion.  In 
the  doorway  she  paused  in  frank  astonishment 
and  glanced  around  the  great  room  which  was 
full  of  men  and  women  where  she  had  expected 
only  a  few.  Could  it  be  a  surprise  party?  Had 
the  neighbors  received  word  that  she  was  com- 
ing down  that  evening — but  no,  that  was  silly 
— no  one,  not  even  Miss  Varney,  knew  that  she 
planned  to  come.  Besides,  these  were  strangers 
and  mostly  young.  Her  neighbors  were  old  and 
wrinkled  and  sick  like  herself.  She  glanced  at 
Miss  Varney  and  laid  one  hand  nervously  on 
the  younger  woman's  arm. 

Henry  Appleby  came  forward,  his  hand  out. 
"Well,  auntie,"  said  he  gaily,  "you  don't  look  a 
day  older  than  when  I  saw  you  last." 

The  old  lady  laughed  in  relief  at  the  sight  of 


DISTRIBUTOR  OF  MILLIONS       217 

the  familiar  face.  She  laid  her  hand  in  his 
and  clung  to  it  eagerly. 

"How  long  ago  was  that,  Henry?"  she  asked. 

"That  was — let's  see — five  years  ago  last 
fall,"  answered  Henry  Appleby,  drawing  her  to 
him  and  kissing  one  wrinkled  old  cheek. 

"I  remember,"  cried  the  old  lady.  "May  was 
too  sick  to  come  with  you,  you  said." 

"She  was,"  said  Appleby,  and  refrained  from 
glancing  anywhere  save  at  his  aunt.  Mrs. 
Morgan — May — strove  not  to  blush.  Seeing 
her,  Miss  Appleby  dropped  Henry's  arm  and 
hurried  forward. 

"And  here  is  May,"  she  cried.  "Is  not  this 
May?"  hesitating,  then  beamed  as  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan kissed  her.  "I  remember  you  when  you 
were  a  bride,  my  child,  and  Henry  brought  you 
down  to  see  me.  And  now,  who  is  this?"  turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Fisher. 

Mrs.  Fisher,  with  the  density  of  one  who  did 
not  belong  to  the  family  and  was  without  hope 
of  a  share  in  the  forty  millions,  had  not  been 
impressed  by  the  grim  warning  Miss  Varney 
had  given  them.  She  took  the  old  lady's  hand 


218       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

and  kissed  her,  saying  gaily,  "I  feel  that 
through  Harold,  you  are  my  auntie,  too." 

"Harold,  my  dear?"  questioned  the  old  lady. 

"My  husband's  little  boy,"  explained  Mrs. 
Fisher,  trying  to  make  up  to  Mrs.  Parker  for 
her  former  mistake  by  constantly  repeating  the 
name  of  Harold. 

"And  who  is  your  husband?"  asked  Miss  Ap- 
pleby,  her  nervousness  increasing  with  her  per- 
plexity, a  worried  expression  creeping  into  her 
eyes  as  she  tried  to  understand. 

"Harold  Montague  Fisher,"  replied  Mrs. 
Fisher.  "Little  Harold  was  named  after  him, 
you  know." 

"And  what  relation  is  Harold  to  me?  I  can't 
remember  a  Fisher  in  the  family." 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Fisher  himself  is  no  relation." 
Mrs.  Fisher  was  also  getting  nervous.  She  felt 
by  the  way  the  others  were  watching  her  that 
she  had  done  something  else  wrong.  The  at- 
mosphere had  become  strained.  "No,  Harold  is 
your  great-nephew  on  his  mother's  side." 

"But  aren't  you  his  mother?"  questioned  Miss 
Appleby. 


DISTRIBUTOR  OF  MILLIONS       219 

"No,  oh,  no,"  protested  Mrs.  Fisher,  floun- 
dering helplessly  now  under  the  cold  glances 
directed  at  her,  aware  that  she  had  blundered, 
but  not  sure  how. 

"Is  his  mother  dead?"  asked  Miss  Appleby 
in  a  daze. 

"No,"  Mrs.  Alison  Drake  Fisher  Parker 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  "I  am  Harold's 
mother,  aunt." 

Miss  Appleby  turned.  "Why,  Alison." 
Meekly  she  permitted  herself  to  be  kissed,  and 
as  one  stunned  she  questioned  on.  "I  thought 
that  you  had  married  a  Drake — " 

"I  did,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Parker  and  then  re- 
membered the  warning,  and  added  quickly,  de- 
fying, with  a  magnificent  sweep  of  her  dark 
eyes,  any  one  to  contradict  her,  "I  did,  but 
Amos  died.  I  was  left  a  widow  and  married 
Mr.  Fisher." 

"Then  you  are  Mrs.  Fisher — " 

"No,  I  am  Mrs.  Parker." 

"Poor  child,  did  your  second  husband  also 
die?"  The  old  lady  was  all  sympathy. 

"Yes,"  said  Alison,  in  too  far  now  to  retreat. 


220       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"But  then  who  is  this  Mrs.  Fisher?"  In  dull 
despair  the  old  lady's  eyes  filled  with  sick  tears 
as  she  questioned. 

"I  am  his  present  wife,"  said  Mrs.  Fisher 
coldly,  glancing  sternly  at  her  other  half's  one- 
time better  half. 

"But  he  is  dead."  Miss  Appleby  was  hope- 
lessly confused. 

Miss  Varney  laid  her  hand  on  the  old  lady's 
shoulder  and  turned  her  around,  gently  but 
firmly. 

"Have  you  seen  Stephen  Mayhew,  Miss  Ap- 
pleby?" she  asked. 

"Stephen,"  cried  the  old  lady,  "you  were  a 
little  boy  when  my  sister  brought  you  to  see 
me." 

"I  feel  like  a  little  boy  still,"  declared  Ste- 
phen, kissing  her. 

"And,"  catching  sight  of  Mrs.  Von  Loben 
Sels,  "and  there  is  your  dear  wife." 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  pressed  her  wrinkled 
cheek. 

"Yes,"  said  Stephen,  deciding  as  the  others 
had  done  on  a  bold  lie  if  need  be,  "my  wife." 

"Sir,"  the  peace  of  the  room  was  broken  by 


DISTRIBUTOR  OF  MILLIONS       221 

the  stern  accents  of  outraged  womanhood  as 
the  present  Mrs.  Mayhew  advanced  angrily  and 
faced  her  husband.  "Sir,  is  that  woman  still 
your  wife  ?  If  so,  I  shall  at  once  start  suit  for 
bigamy." 

"Bigamy?"  Miss  Appleby  burst  into  tears. 

"Come,"  said  Miss  Varney,  and  gently  led 
her  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LOVE,  THE  LEVELER 

THERE  was  a  moment  of  heavy  silence  as 
all  stared  after  their  departing  hostess, 
then  the  muffled  sobs  of  the  unhappy  bride  re- 
called them  to  the  stern  pleasures  of  matri- 
mony.   Stephen  turned  to  his  wife. 

"Mary,  Mary,  it  was  only  for  a  short  time," 
he  explained,  patting  her  tenderly  on  the 
shoulder. 

"But — we — have  only  been  married  a  week," 
sobbed  the  broken-hearted  one,  "and  already — 
you — deny — me !" 

"No,  no,  love.  Aunt  Appleby  disapproves  of 
divorce — " 

"If  you  disapprove  of  me — I — I — will  leave 
— you — you  can  get — a — divorce — " 

Stephen  led  the  unconsolable  gently  aside  to 
the  great  French  window  and  thence  to  the 
porch,  while  the  others  began  to  discuss  the 
situation. 

222 


LOVE,  THE  LEVELER  223 

"The  trouble  is,"  said  Freddy  Van  Tuyl, 
harassed  out  of  his  usual  courtesy,  "there  are 
too  many  of  us.  Only  the  immediate  relatives 
should  be  present." 

"I  think  so,  too,"  declared  Mrs.  Morgan.  "I 
shall  leave  to-morrow  for  Reno.  Vera  can  stay 
on  with  you,  Henry." 

"Mother,"  said  Vera,  rising  and  slipping  her 
hand  through  her  mother's  arm,  "as  I  said  once 
before,  there  are  to  be  no  more  trips  to  Reno 
for  us." 

"Vera,"  Mrs.  Morgan  withdrew  her  arm 
coldly  from  her  daughter's  loving  clasp  and  pre- 
pared to  make  a  stand  for  freedom  here  in  the 
presence  of  Maude,  the  stanch  defender  of  the 
"faith."  "Vera,  Mr.  Morgan  insists  on  reading 
his  paper  at  the  breakfast  table — " 

Maude  was  there,  as  Mrs.  Morgan  knew  she 
would  be,  primed  with  argument.  "A  perfect 
outrage  to  our  womanhood."  Tommy  wilted, 
though  not  addressed.  "Would  a  man  read  the 
paper  if  he  were  dining  with  a  lady  friend  ?" 

"No,"  agreed  Vera,  "neither  would  a  man,  I 
hope,  go  to  bed  in  the  presence  of  a  lady 
friend." 


224       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Vera,  how  perfectly  disgusting,"  gasped 
Maude. 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  laughed.  "Relationship 
alters  cases,"  she  suggested. 

"Besides,"  declared  Vera,  "a  newspaper  is 
sometimes  a  lot  more  interesting  than  a  wife." 

"That  is  preposterous,"  cried  Maude. 

"But  true,"  sighed  Tommy  so  low  that  no  one 
heard  him. 

"A  sister  wouldn't  leave  her  brother's  house 
because  he  read  the  paper  at  breakfast," 
pleaded  Vera  to  her  mother.  "A  man  and  his 
wife  should  allow  each  other  the  liberty  they 
allow  blood  relatives." 

Sammy  stared  at  his  wife  in  dazed  surprise. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  Vera  contemplated 
granting  him  any  liberty? 

"It  isn't  liberty  to  ignore  your  wife,"  de- 
clared Maude,  who  needed  no  assistance  in  the 
battle  for  "Woman's  Rights,"  taking  upon  her 
shoulders  and  carrying  to  a  triumphant  con- 
clusion any  unfortunate  sister's  struggles  for 
the  new  freedom. 

"It's  wisdom   sometimes,"   said   Van   Tuyl, 


LOVE,  THE  LEVELER  223 

ignorantly  reckless  because  of  his  unmarried 
state. 

"Mother,"  demanded  Vera,  as  Maude  sailed 
into  the  luckless  Van  Tuyl,  "why  should  Mar- 
jory be  deprived  of  a  father  because  he  reads 
his  paper  instead  of  talks?" 

"I  can  not  talk  here,"  returned  her  mother 
coldly,  and  swept  from  the  room.  Vera  fol- 
lowed her  and  the  dazed  Samuel  held  open  the 
door  for  them  as  one  in  a  dream. 

Dinner  was  a  distracted  meal.  Miss  Varney 
sent  down  word  that  Miss  Appleby  had  had  a 
relapse  and  that  neither  would  be  down  again 
that  evening.  Mrs.  Morgan  and  Vera  did  not 
appear  either  and  the  others  discussed  the  situ- 
ation in  disjointed  nervousness. 

"My  dear  aunt  should  be  made  to  understand 
the  modern  prevalence  of  divorce,"  declared 
Appleby. 

"It  isn't  our  fault  that  women  have  become 
polygamous,"  grumbled  Van  Tuyl. 

Maude  was  on  him  at  once  and  the  meal 
ended  as  disastrously  as  the  discussion  in  the 
library,  with  no  plan  formed  to  meet  the  un- 


226       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

fortunate  principles  of  the  owner  and  distribu- 
tor of  forty  millions.  It  was  clear  that  they 
could  not  keep  up  the  pretense  of  being  mar- 
ried to  the  particular  persons  Miss  Appleby 
supposed,  when  they  were  not.  Nor  could  they 
pretend  to  be  widows  when  their  widowers 
were  present,  nor  yet  widowers  with  their  wid- 
ows there.  Mrs.  Fisher  was  grieved  beyond 
consoling  by  her  apparent  position  of  wife  to 
a  dead  man  whose  widow  was  also  in  the  same 
house. 

"We  have  got  to  be  careful,"  pleaded  Van 
Tuyl.  "She  will  get  mad  and  cut  us  all  out  of 
that  forty  millions." 

"I  have  never  been  divorced,"  grunted  Hark- 
ness. 

"Nor  I,"  said  Van  Tuyl.  "Then  there  is  Vera 
and  Sammy,  a  complete  couple  so  far,  Nelly 
and  Ricky,  Maude  and  Tommy — " 

"I  am  a  complete  couple  with  Mr.  Von  Loben 
Sels,"  said  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  gently.  "Shall 
I  send  for  him!  I  can't  leave,  you  know,  on 
account  of  Stephie.  He  needs  his  mother  to 
push  his  claims." 

"Educate  auntie,"  suggested  Appleby  again. 


LOVE,  THE  LEVELER  227 

"No,  sir,"  cried  Van  Tuyl,  "not  when  we  may 
lose  forty  millions  doing  it." 

"No,"  seconded  Harkness.  "When  she  found 
how  easy  divorce  is,  she  would  get  married  for 
the  experience,  and  divorced  for  the  relief." 

"Relief?  From  whom,  pray?"  Maude's  icy 
accents  cleaved  the  atmosphere. 

Nelly  slipped  from  the  room  indifferent  to 
what  followed  and  to  the  forty  millions.  When 
all  one's  thoughts  are  occupied  with  the  miser- 
able numb  sickness  of  finding  that  one's  love  is 
not  what  one  thought  him,  how  can  one  think 
of  forty  millions !  Forty  million — kisses  ?  Yes, 
ah,  yes,  forty  times  forty  millions.  But  mere 
dollars,  mere  round  senseless  metal?  No,  no! 
Nothing  doing. 

The  evening  was  calm  and  beautiful.  The 
sun  had  set  and  the  last  flicker  of  daylight  had 
turned  into  the  pale  dusk  of  night.  Over  the 
tree-tops  a  star  shone  like  a  beacon  of  hope. 
Nelly  paused  on  the  porch  steps  and  even  in 
her  misery  thought  to  whisper  softly: 

"Star  light, 
Star  bright, 


228       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

First  star  I've  seen  to-night, 

I  wish  I  may, 

I  wish  I  might, 

Have  the  wish  I  wish  to-night." 

Three  times  she  repeated  it  as  the  formula 
commands,  and  then  with  renewed  hope,  for 
she  knew  not  what,  her  only  wish  having  been 
a  vague  one,  expansive,  inclusive,  that  all  would 
yet  be  well,  she  ran  lightly  down  the  steps  and 
the  path  to  the  sweet  seclusion  of  the  flower 
garden. 

The  twilight  died  and  the  darkness  deepened 
as  she  mused,  curled  up  on  the  rustic  bench  by 
the  sun-dial.  The  stars  multiplied  overhead 
and  a  breeze  arose,  whispering  in  the  tree-tops 
and  bringing  sweet,  unnamable  spring  odors 
from  the  fields  and  hedge  rows.  Once  the  small 
gate  clicked  and  a  couple  came  slowly  down  the 
walk,  indistinguishable  in  the  darkness,  save 
that  one  was  a  woman  in  clinging  white  and 
the  other  a  man.  They  hesitated  a  moment  on 
finding  their  retreat  occupied  then  passed  on 
and  out  of  the  farther  gate.  Nelly  watched 
them,  indifferent  as  to  their  identity,  envious 


LOVE,  THE  LEVELER  229 

of  their  apparent  equality.  They  could  love 
each  other  and  take  pride  in  the  love,  for  one 
was  not  forced  to  stoop.  Then  she  flushed  in 
the  darkness  for  her  own  miserable  snobbery 
and  knew  at  the  same  time  that  she  could  not 
help  it.  Small  refinements,  little  courtesies, 
superficial  perhaps  in  the  grim  realities  of  life, 
yet  they  made  up  her  world  and  were  as  much 
a  part  of  her  as  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  delicate 
white  hands.  Though  her  heart  cried  out  in  an 
agony  of  denial,  she  knew  that  in  the  end,  when 
put  to  the  test,  she  would  never  have  to  present 
Mrs.  Rubenstein  to  her  friends  as  her  mother- 
in-law. 

Once  more  the  gate  opened  and  some  one 
came  down  the  walk,  a  man,  alone,  tall  and  thin. 
In  the  darkness,  able  only  to  see  his  vague  out- 
line, yet  she  knew  him.  Her  heart  seemed  to 
stop.  She  told  herself  fiercely  that  he  was  not 
the  man  she  had  thought  him,  he  was  not  just, 
that  she  should  be  disgusted  with  him  for  hav- 
ing one  law  for  one  and  another  law  for  an- 
other, that  she  was  disgusted,  and  all  the  time 
her  lips  twitched  with  an  uncontrollable  desire 
to  smile  her  glad  foolish  welcome.  Slowly  he1 


230       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

came  down  the  walk  and  she  watched  him, 
watched  his  well-shaped  head,  his  broad  shoul- 
ders, his  long  graceful  stride.  Then  suddenly 
he  saw  her  white  dress.  He  hesitated  as  though 
about  to  retreat,  but  finally  came  forward.  She 
turned  her  head  as  he  approached  and  would 
not  look  at  him  as  she  strove  to  control  her 
mutinous  lips. 

"Nelly." 

He  stood  before  her,  looking  down  on  her, 
one  hand  in  his  pocket.  She  tried  not  to  meet 
his  eyes,  but  in  spite  of  herself,  she  raised  her 
head  and  faced  him.  For  a  moment  they  stared 
at  each  other,  temples  throbbing,  hearts  beat- 
ing. Then  his  hands  were  on  her  shoulders,  he 
had  dragged  her  roughly,  fiercely,  to  her  feet 
and  his  arms  were  around  her,  crushing  her 
to  him. 

"Nelly,  Nelly,"  he  whispered  and  could  find 
wits  to  say  no  more,  he  who  swayed  crowds  by 
the  eloquence  of  his  glib  tongue,  by  the  fire  of 
his  rushing  voice. 

Nelly's  arms  were  around  his  neck  and  in  the 
relief  from  the  long  strain  of  trying  to  be  dis- 


LOVE,  THE  LEVELER  231 

gusted  with  him,  she  wept  in  ecstatic  joy  on  the 
breast  of  his  workman's  flannel  blouse ;  he,  the 
fourth  assistant  gardener,  she  the  niece  of  Miss 
Appleby  and  her  forty  millions. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TOO  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY 


ES»"  said  Van  Tuyl»  "I  am  trying  to 
start  an  innovation."  He  paused  im- 
pressively and  glanced  around  the  library 
where  all  the  guests  were  again  assembled 
waiting  the  luncheon  bell. 

It  seemed  to  Miss  Varney's  harassed  intel- 
lect that  all  they  ever  did  was  eating  or  waiting 
to  eat.  She  had  confided  as  much  to  Ricky  the 
night  before  when  they  had  strolled  down  the 
path  to  the  flower  garden  and  found  their  re- 
treat occupied. 

"I  know,"  sympathized  Ricky,  "but  eating  is 
the  foundation  of  the  world's  commerce.  You 
can't  take  a  mouthful  without  being  the  direct 
cause  of  some  poor  devil's  earning  a  living." 

"What  is  the  innovation?"  asked  Vera,  who 
had  just  entered  with  her  father.  They  had 
been  for  a  walk  which  Vera  had  thoroughly 
enjoyed,  surprised  that  she  found  her  father 

232 


TOO  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY  233 

so  satisfying  when  neither  had  said  a  dozen 
words  and  those  words  were  monosyllables  of 
the  most  delightful  bromidic  common  sense. 

"We  have  women  police  men,"  said  Van  Tuyl. 

Sammy  snickered.  Van  Tuyl  frowned.  His 
young  kinsman  seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  sense 
of  humor  he  had  noticed,  laughing  in  sudden 
bursts,  quickly  suppressed,  at  nothing  as  far  as 
the  others  could  see. 

"Women  police  men,"  went  on  Van  Tuyl, 
ignoring  Sammy.  "Women  doctors,  lawyers, 
gardeners,  farmers,  stenographers,  bookkeep- 
ers. Now  what  I  plan  to  have  The  Voice  of 
the  People  advocate  is  a  still  wider  field  for 
women.  Why  limit  their  powers  ?" 

He  glanced  around  but  forbore  to  look  at 
Maude. 

"Who  does?"  asked  Appleby. 

"What  wider  field  do  you  advocate?"  asked 
Mrs.  Bingham.  "Art?" 

"Women  are  already  masters  of  art,"  said 
Maude  coolly.  "As  I  have  explained  to  Cally, 
why,  because  she  is  a  mother,  should  that  pre- 
vent her  from  painting  a  great  picture  or  writ- 
ing a  deathless  poem?" 


234       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

All  turned  and  looked  at  Cally,  poor  little, 
humdrum,  rather  stupid  Cally,  and  the  idea  of 
her  writing  a  great  poem  would  have  been 
comic  if  it  wasn't  rather  pitiful.  Cally  burst 
into  tears. 

"Cally,  my  dear,"  soothed  Mrs.  Morgan, 
"what  is  the  trouble?" 

"She's  all  broken  down  from  overwork  and 
nervousness,"  said  Vera  gently. 

"Maude — Maude  expects  so  much  from  me," 
sobbed  Cally.  "I— I— haven't  the  ability." 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels,  blushing  delightfully, 
refused  to  be  turned  from  the  subject  of  art. 
"I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  my  picture,"  said 
she,  modestly,  turning  to  Van  Tuyl. 

Cally  was  forgotten. 

"Your  picture?"  rose  the  excited  clamor. 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  blushed  still  more  de- 
lightfully. "Female  Casting  a  Ballot,"  said 
she  with  a  deprecating  little  gesture  as  though 
she  had  really  done  nothing  worth  mentioning. 
"I  suggested  that  they  call  it  Sunset  From  the 
Palisades,  but  they  decided  that  that  was  not 
prosaic  enough." 

"Hung?"  demanded  Maude. 


TOO  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY  235 

"Accepted  and  most  favorably  hung,"  smiled 
Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels. 

"How  perfectly  to  be  expected,"  cried  Maude, 
feeling  that  the  entire  feminine  sex  had  had  a 
hand  in  the  painting.  "I  shall  go  at  once  and 
see  it.  How  beautiful,  how  poetic,  how  realis- 
tic, Female  Casting  a  Ballot." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels, 
"there  have  been  other  women  painters, 
Freddy.  There  was  Rosa  Bonheur,  for  in- 
stance." 

"No,"  said  Van  Tuyl,  "I  was  not  thinking  of 
art.  Women  have  conquered  that  field  as  they 
have  the  masculine  field.  I  shall  advocate 
women  mothers.  Think  of  the  boundless  op- 
portunity for  good  a  woman  can  have  in  the 
home." 

"Back  to  the  home,"  suggested  Sammy  and 
laughed,  more  than  his  wit  seemed  to  call  for. 
Van  Tuyl  frowned  again.  A  serious  movement 
should  not  be  treated  with  levity. 

"Still  thinking  of  his  straw  hat,"  thought 
Vera,  smiling  at  her  husband. 

Harkness  looked  at  him  coldly,  sternly,  and 
Sammy's  snicker  died  in  a  muffled  cough. 


236       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Miss  Varney,  charmingly  flushed,  entered 
hastily. 

"Dear  people,"  she  said,  pausing  in  the  door- 
way, one  hand  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  "I  have 
tried  to  explain  to  Miss  Appleby  that  divorce 
is  merely  a  higher  demonstration  of  American 
liberty.  Why  be  bound  by  even  the  marriage 
ties?  I  have  showed  her  the  folly  of  trying  to 
live  with  a  person  of  whom  you  have  wearied. 
The  foolish  notion  of  limiting  romance  to  youth 
and  unmarried  people.  Why  grow  too  old  to 
flirt?  The  more  we  get  married,  the  more  we 
want  to  get  married." 

"I  hope  you  explained  that  when  a  man  has 
killed  a  woman's  love  to  continue  to  be  his  wife 
is  prostitution,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan  with  a  pro- 
longed sigh  and  a  glance  at  Vera  of  mingled 
reproach  and  forgiveness. 

Miss  Varney  nodded.  "Yes,  I  did,  indeed. 
Why  live  with  one  man  when  you  want  to  live 
with  another?" 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  Appleby  anx- 
iously. 

Miss  Varney  smiled  like  a  child  conscious  of 
well-doing.  "I  think  I  made  her  realize  a  little 


TOO  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY  237 

anyway,  that  the  times  have  changed  since  she 
was  young  and  the  ideal  was  married  felicity. 
She  admitted  that  she  knew  things  have 
changed.  I  want  her  to  meet  you  all  again  and 
hope  I  can  persuade  her  to  look  on  marriage  as 
a  temporary  enjoyment  instead  of  a  permanent 
annoyance."  Miss  Varney  nodded,  smiled,  and 
hesitated  a  moment  as  though  seeking  a  tact- 
ful way  to  express  herself  further.  "While  she 
tries  to  understand,"  she  said  at  last,  "natural- 
ly it  is  rather  difficult  for  her  to  get  our  point 
of  view.  So — maybe — just  at  first — if  you  will 
each  limit  youself  to  one  divorce  and,  possibly, 
a  separation,  it  may  be  best." 

Once  more  she  nodded,  smiled  encouragement 
and  paused  to  allow  one  of  the  others  to  make 
a  suggestion. 

"Suppose  we  don't  mention  marriage  or  re- 
marriage, if  possible,"  suggested  Van  Tuyl. 
"Auntie  is  old  and  there  is  no  need  to  preju- 
dice her." 

"No  more  at  least  than  we  have  to,"  said 
Appleby  gloomily.  "How  is  auntie,  Miss 
Varney?" 


238       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Miss  Varney  looked  grave.  "She  was  very 
much  up — " 

The  door  opened  and  on  the  threshold  stood 
the  old  lady,  smiling,  half  fearfully,  wholly 
timidly,  from  one  to  the  other.  It  was  clear 
with  one  glance  that  she  was  not  so  well  as  the 
night  before.  She  was  still  shaken  from  her 
experience  and  under  a  nervous  strain.  She 
had  great  rings  beneath  her  eyes,  her  cheeks 
were  white  and  flabby  and  the  hand  that  she 
laid  on  Miss  Varney's  arm  trembled. 

Appleby  came  forward  at  once  and  kissed 
her.  "Well,  auntie,  how's  the  old  lady?"  he 
asked  jovially. 

Miss  Appleby  smiled.  "I  want  to  meet  all 
of  you,"  she  said.  "It  is  so  long  since  I  have 
seen  any  of  you  and  especially  the  children. 
Where  is  Harold?" 

Mrs.  Fisher  blushed  and  looked  guiltily  at 
Mrs.  Alison  Drake  Fisher  Parker.  No  one  an- 
swered. Mrs.  Parker  was  wondering  if  Jimmy 
were  worthy  under  the  circumstances  of  im- 
personating Harold.  Mrs.  Fisher,  realizing 
that  all  blame  for  the  situation  was  hers,  for- 


TOO  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY  239 

bore  to  take  any  more  active  part  in  the  pro- 
ceedings than  need  be. 

Miss  Appleby  looked  at  Mrs.  Parker.  "Ali- 
son, dear,  you  are  Harold's  mother,  are  you 
not?"  she  asked  gently. 

"Yes,  dear  aunt,"  replied  Mrs.  Parker, 
struggling  to  make  up  her  mind  whether  to 
send  for  Jimmy  or  not.  Jimmy  looked  a  great 
deal  like  Mr.  Fisher  and  so  did  Harold.  Be- 
sides, Jimmy  was  a  dear  little  boy  and  she  had 
been  very  fond  of  him  when  she  had  been  his 
mother. 

"Did  you  leave  him  home,  dear  child  ?"  asked 
the  old  lady  with  evident  disappointment  at  the 
thought  of  not  seeing  her  grand-nephew. 

And  like  another,  more  historical  but  hardly 
more  heroic  character,  Mrs.  Parker  could  not 
lie.  "Dear  aunt,"  said  she  gently,  "Harold  is 
not  here.  Mrs.  Fisher  did  not  bring  him." 

"Hush,"  whispered  Appleby  too  late. 

"Don't  complicate  matters,"  pleaded  Van 
Tuyl  of  Mrs.  Fisher,  reducing  that  lady  at  once 
to  a  nervous  wreck.  She  felt  the  eyes  of  all  to 
be  upon  her  and  in  her  intense  eagerness  to  be 


240       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

of  help,  to  rectify  that  first  fatal  blunder,  to 
do  as  Van  Tuyl  requested  and  not  complicate 
matters,  she  spoke  the  confusing  truth. 

"I  made  a  mistake,  Miss  Appleby,  and 
brought  Jimmy  instead  of  Harold." 

It  was  plain  to  all  that  Miss  Appleby  was 
trying  hard  to  understand,  not  to  be  old-fash- 
ioned and  primitive.  She  moistened  her  lips 
with  her  tongue  and  asked  still  gently : 

"And  who  is  Jimmy?" 

"One  divorce  and  a  separation,"  whispered 
Harkness  hoarsely. 

"Jimmy  is  Mr.  Fisher's  child  by  his  first 
wife,"  said  Mrs.  Fisher,  desperately,  clinging 
to  the  truth  as  a  penniless  man  clings  to  his 
job. 

"One  divorce  and  a  separation,"  pleaded 
Harkness  again,  in  a  low  tense  voice  not 
intended  for  the  old  lady. 

"He  was  divorced  from  his  first  wife  and 
separated  from  his  second,"  said  Mrs.  Fisher, 
not  clear  now  what  she  was  saying  and  driven 
to  falsehood  by  the  strained  encouragement  on 
the  faces  around  her. 

"Dear  aunt,"  said  Van  Tuyl  hastily,  "my 


TOO  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY  241 

paper,  The  Voice  of  the  People,  is  going  to 
institute  a  nation-wide  movement  of  back  to 
the  home — " 

Cally  burst  into  tears. 

The  old  lady  turned  and  saw  her  for  the 
first  time.  "My  dear,  my  dear,"  she  pleaded  in 
as  evident  distress  as  Cally,  "what  is  the 
trouble?" 

"B-b-back  to  the  h-h-ome,"  sobbed  Cally. 

"Poor  child,  so  very  homesick?"  asked  Miss 
Appleby,  all  compassion,  but  visibly  growing 
more  nervous.  Her  cheeks  had  crimson  spots 
on  them  and  her  hands  trembled  hopelessly 
as  she  sought  to  stroke  Cally's  pale  brown 
hair.  "You  should  not  have  come  to  see  a 
foolish  old  woman  like  me,  child." 

"I — I — was  glad  to  come,"  wept  Cally. 
"My — my  boss  spits." 

"Your  husband,  love?" 

"M— my  boss." 

"Cally  works  in  an  office,  dear  aunt," 
explained  Maude. 

"Dear,  dear,"  the  old  lady  was  all  crooning 
tenderness.  "Are  you  so  poor,  you  brave  young 
thing?" 


242       ONLY  KELATIVES  INVITED 

"Oh,  they  have  plenty  of  money,"  elucidated 
Maude.  "But  Cally,  dear  aunt,  refuses  to  be  a 
parasite." 

"A  parasite?"  the  old  lady  was  reduced  to 
repetition. 

As  in  the  unfortunate  conversation  about 
Jimmy  and  Harold,  Van  Tuyl  once  more  sought 
to  create  a  diversion.  "The  motto  for  my  re- 
turn movement,"  said  he  cheerfully,  "will  be 
'Better  be  a  parasite  than  a  sight.' " 

"And  who,  pray,  is  a  'sight'  in  your  estima- 
tion?" demanded  Maude,  insulted  womanhood 
refusing  to  be  silent  even  with  the  possibility 
of  losing  a  share  in  the  forty  million. 

The  old  lady's  hand  rose  in  a  nervous  flutter 
to  her  trembling  lips  as  she  gazed  from  one  to 
another,  clearly  on  the  verge  of  tears  herself. 

"Maude,"  pleaded  Appleby.  "Please,  Freddy 
meant  no  harm.  We  are  upsetting  aunt." 

"I  can  not  help  it,  Henry,"  returned  Maude. 
"Does  Freddy  infer  that  Cally  is  a  sight?  Cally, 
a  noble  woman,  absolutely  independent,  stand- 
ing shoulder  to  shoulder  with  men — " 

"Boys— office  boys,"  sobbed  Cally.    "I— I— 


TOO  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY  243 

I'm  not  a  man,  Maude,  though  I  try  to  be. 
I — I — can't  compete  with  them." 

"You  certainly  can,"  contradicted  Maude 
sternly.  "Why  should  your  sex  prevent  you 
.from  doing  precisely  what  men  do — " 

"But,  my  dear,  why  want  to  do  what  men 
do?"  asked  Miss  Appleby  humbly,  a  meek 
seeker  of  the  light. 

"Everybody,"  begged  Harkness,  "pray  be 
calm." 

"Dearest  aunt,"  said  Appleby,  heroically 
trying  to  launch  a  new  topic  of  conversation, 
"we  have  with  us  a  famous  painter,"  and  he 
turned  and  bowed  to  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels. 

"I  would  like  to  see  some  of  your  work, 
dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  holding  out  her  hand. 
"Stephie  must  be  proud  of  you."  Then  she 
remembered  that  Stephen  was  no  longer  Mrs. 
Von  Loben  Sels'  husband  and  paused,  blush- 
ing painfully  for  having  wounded  the  young 
thing's  feelings  by  such  a  clumsy  reference  to 
her  disgrace,  the  divorce. 

Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  blushed  herself.  Stephie 
to  her  meant  no  one  but  Stephen,  Junior.  Could 


244       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

it  be  that  the  old  lady  knew  that  he  had  manu- 
factured the  picture?  Was  she  ironical? 

Stephen  felt  his  bride's  cold  glance  upon 
him  and  forbore  to  open  his  mouth.  Once 
more  Van  Tuyl  felt  the  strain  in  the  atmos- 
phere and  sought  to  remedy  it. 

"Dear  aunt,"  he  began,  when  the  door 
opened  unceremoniously  and  a  stranger  ap- 
peared on  the  threshold. 

He  was  a  tall  thin  man,  shabby  and  hungry 
looking.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  folded  paper. 
In  just  two  bounds,  Harkness  was  out  of  the 
French  window,  making  for  the  flower  garden. 
Mrs.  Bingham,  with  an  undignified  shriek,  slip- 
ped through  a  door  that  led  into  a  small  ref- 
erence room,  but  which  she  thought  led  to  the 
hall  and  escape.  The  stranger  took  one  step 
after  her,  when  Miss  Appleby,  tense,  white- 
faced,  stood  before  him,  her  old  head  up. 

"Sir,"  said  she  coldly,  pointing  to  the  door, 
"leave  my  house." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  but  first  I  must  speak  to  that 
lady."  And  the  stranger  tried  courteously  to 
pass. 

Miss  Appleby  stood  her  ground.    "That  lady, 


TOO  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY  245 

sir,  is  my  niece  and  has  no  business,  no  busi- 
ness whatever,  with  you."  There  was  bound- 
less scorn  for  him  in  the  sweet  old  voice. 
"Leave  my  house  or  I  shall  have  you  put  out." 

The  stranger  threw  back  his  coat  and  re- 
vealed a  policeman's  badge.  "Very  well,  ma'am, 
as  you  won't  let  me  arrest  her,  I  arrest  you 
instead  for  preventing  an  officer  of  the  law 
from  performing  his  duty." 

The  old  lady's  eyes  blazed,  her  pointing 
finger  trembled  with  outraged  dignity.  "Leave 
my  house  before  I  order  my  servants  to  put 
you  out,"  said  she. 

The  stranger  laid  his  hand  diffidently  on  her 
shoulder.  "Miss  Appleby,  I  have  no  other 
course  open  before  me  but  to  arrest  you," 
said  he. 

"My  aunt  is  too  ill  to  be  bothered,"  said  Van 
Tuyl  genially,  stepping  forward.  "Come  with 
me.  I  think  we  can  fix  it  up."  He  slipped  his 
hand  through  the  shabby  stranger's  arm  and 
led  him  from  the  room,  jovially,  but  firmly. 

The  door  closed.  Miss  Appleby  stood  a 
moment  staring  after  them,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot,  then  she  sank  into  a  chair  and 


246       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

began  to  cry,  the  pitiful  strangling  sobs  of 
aged  grief.  "Think  of  the  disgrace,  the  dis- 
grace," she  moaned.  "Arrested,  sent  to  prison, 
Cynthia  Appleby  arrested  and  sent  to  prison — " 

"Dearest  aunt,"  pleaded  Appleby,  "don't  let 
it  affect  you  so.  Pray  calm  yourself.  To  go 
to  prison  nowadays  is  no  disgrace.  All  our 
best  people  go.  Simply  write  about  your  ex- 
perience when  you  come  out,  describe  the  bru- 
tality of  the  jailers  for  treating  you  like  a 
prisoner,  the  terrible  injustice  of  keeping  dis- 
honest men  locked  up  for  the  sake  of  decent 
society.  Believe  me,  dearest  aunt,  in  that  way 
prison  is  no  disgrace." 

Miss  Appleby  sobbed  on. 

Mrs.  Bingham  like  a  trapped  animal  peered 
cautiously  forth  from  her  unfortunate  cul-de- 
sac.  "Is  he  gone?"  she  whispered. 

"Yes,"  said  some  one. 

She  emerged,  wringing  her  hands.  "Did  he 
see  the  children?" 

"What  has  become  of  the  policewoman?" 
asked  Maude,  who  having  recommended  her 
presence  felt  anxiously  responsible  for  her 
proficiency. 


TOO  MUCH  FOR  AUNT  APPLEBY  247 

"She  could  not  stop  an  officer  of  the  law," 
said  Ricky.  "He  had  come  to  arrest  you,  Clara. 
The  children  have  probably  been  seen  and 
recognized." 

"But  why  should  he  arrest  Clara  ?"  demanded 
the  old  lady  between  her  sobs.  "I  and  my 
niece,  disgraced,  disgraced." 

"Dearest  aunt,"  begged  Appleby.  "Please, 
please." 

"What  has  Clara  done?"  sobbed  the  old  lady. 

"She  kidnaped  her  children — " 

"Her  children?  Her  own  children?"  Miss 
Appleby  rose  blindly  and  held  out  her  hand  to 
Miss  Varney.  "Take  me  away,"  she  sobbed. 
"Take  me  away." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

LEAVING  ALL  SHE  HAD 

GLOOM  impenetrable  had  settled  over  the 
house. 

"We  make  an  unfortunate  impression,"  said 
Appleby  sorrowfully. 

Harkness  came  in  late.  He  had  not  been 
seen  since  his  abrupt  departure  on  the  entrance 
of  the  stranger.  Appleby  had  been  the  only 
one  to  miss  him  and  to  wonder  if  he  were  still 
running. 

The  latched  gate  of  the  flower  garden,  for 
the  seclusion  of  whose  high  hedge  Harkness  had 
aimed  in  his  flight,  had  brought  him  to  a  mo- 
mentary and  agonized  halt.  In  spite  of  his 
three  hundred  pounds,  he  had  descended  the 
piazza  steps  and  negotiated  the  distance  be- 
tween the  house  and  the  garden  with  the  agil- 
ity of  a  mountain  goat.  But  there  his  breath 
had  left  him  and  he  grasped  the  gate,  puffing, 
gasping,  exhausted,  only  capable  of  clinging 

248 


LEAVING  ALL  SHE  HAD          249 

to  the  top  bar  and  struggling  to  breathe  again, 
that  he  might  reach  through  and  loosen  the 
latch.  In  tortured  suspense,  he  clung  there, 
conscious  that  he  was  still  in  full  view  of  the 
house.  Then  some  one  reached  forth  suddenly 
and  unlatched  the  gate  and  Harkness  stumbled 
into  the  seclusion  of  the  hedge  and  the  presence 
of  the  policewoman.  As  the  gate  swung  open, 
his  one  thought  had  been  to  get  out  of  sight, 
and  forgetful  of  his  manners  and  of  the  grati- 
tude he  owed  his  liberator,  he  pushed  by  her, 
stepped  over  a  few  intervening  flower  beds  and 
paused  only  when  sure  that  he  was  completely 
concealed  from  the  house.  Then  he  leaned 
against  the  hedge,  puffing  and  panting.  The 
policewoman,  tall,  gaunt,  stern,  had  followed 
him  and  now  stood  grimly  before  him,  waiting 
until  he  was  himself  again. 

"Much — much — bliged,"  panted  Harkness, 
"opening — gate.  I  was  out  for  a  stroll. 
Beaut — beautiful  here — in — in  seclusion — flow- 
ers— "  He  mopped  his  streaming  forehead  and 
strove  to  appear  at  ease. 

"Yes,"  said  the  policewoman,  unmoved  by 
the  beauty  of  nature,  "here  are  some  papers — " 


250       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Oh,  lord!"  The  bitter  irony  of  it  bit  into 
Harkness'  soul.  He  could  endure  no  more.  He 
doubled  up  like  an  overfat  jackknife  and 
sank  in  a  heap  on  the  already  ruined  flower 
bed,  half  disappearing  in  the  kindly  branches 
of  the  hedge. 

The  policewoman  was  undismayed.  Calmly, 
she  took  two  or  three  rolling  steps  to  an  empty 
flower  pot,  returned  with  it,  inverted  it  and 
sat  down  on  it.  "I  thought  you  would  like 
to  see  the  papers — they  have  something  to  do 
with  you  and  a  divorce  case — before  I  tore 
them." 

"Tore  them  up  ?"  Harkness  half  out  of  sight 
in  his  sudden  collapse  in  the  hedge  was  only 
capable  of  a  faint  repetition. 

"Yes,"  said  the  policewoman.  "You  would 
be  sure  then  that  they  were  destroyed." 

"Destroyed?"  Harkness  sank  still  farther 
into  the  friendly  branches  of  the  hedge  and 
feebly  wiped  his  beaded  brow. 

"Yes,"  said  the  policewoman  once  again. 
"The  man  brought  them  up  to  the  house  this 
morning.  I  asked  him  his  business.  He  ex- 
plained, process  server.  I  told  him  that  I  was 


LEAVING  ALL  SHE  HAD          251 

an  officer  of  the  law,  that  I  would  serve  the 
summons.  For  him  to  leave  the  papers.  He 
said  it  was  a  great  help,  he  had  been  trying  to 
serve  you  for  weeks — " 

"Months — years — centuries,"  mumbled  a 
broken  voice  from  the  hedge. 

"Three  weeks,  he  said,"  corrected  the  police- 
woman. "He  gave  me  the  papers  and  left. 
Here  they  are.  Do  you  wish  to  read  them  to 
be  sure — " 

"No,  no.  No,  no,"  pleaded  Harkness.  "I 
never  want  to  see  them,  never,"  and  he  covered 
his  eyes  with  his  little  fat  hands. 

"I  have  read  them,"  said  the  policewoman. 
"I  will  now  tear  them  up." 

The  blessed  sound  of  tearing  paper  pene- 
trated the  branches  of  the  hedge.  Harkness 
in  a  daze,  listened,  then  slowly  struggled  out 
to  a  more  upright  sitting  position,  and  finally 
scrambled  to  his  knees,  the  better  to  watch  the 
glorious  work  of  mutilation,  his  round  fat  face 
suffused  with  joy. 

When  the  last  two-inch  scrap  had  been 
reduced  to  two  one-inch  pieces,  he  caught  the 
woman's  hand  and  bending  his  head  kissed  it 


252       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

where  it  rested  on  her  knee.  The  woman's  eyes 
brightened,  her  gaunt  face  flushed  and  she 
turned  her  head,  withdrawing  her  hands  to 
feel  nervously  of  her  hair,  tightly  drawn  back, 
wholly  invisible  beneath  the  visor  of  her  un- 
becoming cap. 

"Thomas,"  said  she  softly. 

But  Harkness  did  not  hear.  He  was  carried 
away  with  joy.  "Woman,"  he  cried,  gathering 
up  the  scraps  in  glad  haste,  "woman,  you  have 
saved  my  fortune." 

He  made  a  hole  in  the  soft  dirt  of  the  flower 
bed  and  together  they  tumbled  all  the  scraps 
in  and  covered  them  up.  The  woman  rose, 
lifted  the  inverted  flower  pot  she  had  been 
sitting  on  and  placed  it  firmly  on  the  new- 
made  grave  of  duty-not-done,  law-and-order- 
foiled.  Then  she  sat  down  again  and  Harkness, 
still  kneeling,  hunched  back  on  his  heels  and 
looked  at  her,  such  a  feeling  of  peace  and  se- 
curity in  her  protecting  presence  rushing  over 
him,  that  for  a  moment  he  could  not  find  voice 
to  speak.  Then  his  first  remark  was  to  ques- 
tion his  happiness  as  do  all  poor  mortals. 

"Why  did  you  do  it?"  he  asked  humbly. 


LEAVING  ALL  SHE  HAD          253 

"It  was  against  the  law  and  you  are  an  officer 
of  the  law." 

The  woman  shrugged  that  minor  fact  aside, 
like  all  women,  cheerfully  ready  to  break  the 
law  into  a  thousand  pieces  to  give  happiness  to 
one  she  cares  for.  Every  woman,  where  her 
heart  is  concerned,  makes  her  own  laws. 

"I  thought  that  this  delay  would  give  you 
time  to  get  away,"  she  explained.  "It  will  be 
at  least  two  weeks  before  they  discover  that 
you  have  not  been  served  and  send  on  new 
papers.  Before  then,  your  visit  here  will  be 
over  and  you  will  have  time  to  go  abroad  for 
a  while." 

"But — but — why  did  you  do  it  for — me?" 
stammered  Harkness. 

"I — wanted  to  help — you,"  said  the  police- 
woman and  again  averted  her  eyes  and  felt 
vaguely  of  her  hair. 

Harkness  found  another  empty  flower  pot 
and  inverted  it  beside  the  policewoman's  and 
all  the  afternoon,  they  sat  in  the  sweet  seclu- 
sion of  the  flower  garden,  in  the  shelter  of 
the  protecting  hedge,  and  talked,  while  the  soft 
May  day  drifted  toward  night,  even  as  the 


254       ONLY  KELATIVES  INVITED 

little  white  clouds  drifted  by  in  the  deep  blue 
overhead.  And  the  woman  forgot  her  patrol 
duty  and  the  man,  Miss  Appleby  and  her  forty 
millions. 

At  dinner,  Harkness  was  vaguely  aware  of 
the  gloom  that  engulfed  the  others  and  made 
the  meal  a  sad  depressing  affair,  but  it  was 
not  until  Henry  Appleby  remarked  that  he  be- 
lieved Miss  Appleby  had  consulted  her  lawyer 
that  afternoon,  that  he  was  brought  to  a  full 
realization  of  the  seriousness  of  the  occasion. 

All  glanced  anxiously  at  Appleby.  Miss 
Varney  was  not  present,  having  sent  down 
word  that  she  could  not  leave  her  mistress. 

"An  unfortunate  time  to  make  a  will,"  said 
Stephen  gloomily,  and  added,  slowly,  "for  us." 

"I  am  afraid  it  was  her  will,"  said  Appleby 
solemnly.  "The  butler  was  called  up-stairs  to 
sign  some  papers — " 

The  curtain  at  the  wide  doorway  was  drawn 
slowly  back  and  Miss  Varney  appeared.  She 
was  still  in  the  trim  white  suit  she  had  worn 
at  luncheon.  Her  face  was  drawn  and  tired 
and  she  clung  to  the  curtain  as  though  for 
support.  Across  the  width  of  the  room  her 


LEAVING  ALL  SHE  HAD          255 

eyes  sought  Ricky's  and  something  in  her 
glance  brought  him  to  his  feet,  napkin  in  hand. 
An  ominous  hush  fell  on  the  room  as  all  turned 
in  surprise  to  the  girl. 

"Dear  people,"  said  she  slowly,  "I  have  been 
with  Miss  Appleby  all  the  afternoon,  until 
about  half  an  hour  ago  when  I  withdrew  to 
the  small  sitting-room  to  have  my  supper.  She 
had  been  sleeping  quietly  for  over  two  hours 
when  I  left  her.  Mrs.  Mainwaring  had  also 
gone  to  get  her  supper.  I  was  up-stairs  alone." 
She  paused.  All  knew  what  was  coming,  but 
no  one  spoke  or  moved.  "Suddenly,  I  heard 
an  odd  sound  in  the  bedroom — I  had  left  the 
door  open  in  case  she  wanted  me.  It  sounded 
as  if  some  one  was  trying  to  get  his  breath.  I 
hurried  in.  Miss  Appleby  was  lying  very  still 
on  her  left  side.  Even  before  I  reached  her, 
I  saw  that  she  had  just  died,  very  quietly, 
quite  painlessly." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WHO  IS  THE  HEIR 

4 4 POOR  old  lady,"  sighed  Van  Tuyl,  the 
JL  first  to  break  the  silence  that  had  set- 
tled upon  the  room  after  the  departure  of  Miss 
Varney  and  Henry  Appleby,  who  as  the  oldest 
male  relative  had  taken  charge  of  affairs  by 
the  common  consent  of  all  save  Maude  who 
wanted  to  know  why,  simply  because  he  was  a 
man,  he  should  take  charge.  No  one  cared  to 
argue  the  point  and  the  subject  was  dropped. 

They  murmured  conventional  condolence  to 
one  another,  but  no  one  mentioned  what  was 
uppermost  in  the  minds  of  all.  Had  dear  Aunt 
Appleby  died  intestate,  or  was  Henry  right 
when  he  said  that  she  had  disposed  of  her 
forty  millions  that  afternoon  ?  Forty  millions ! 
Who  was  to  inherit  it?  This  thought,  haunt- 
ing, glorious,  ghastly  in  its  magnificent  possi- 
bilities, was  not  to  be  denied  or  crushed  out. 

256 


WHO  IS  THE  HEIR  257 

She  had  never  had  more  to  do  with  any  of 
them  than  courtesy  and  relationship  required. 
None  had  seen  her  for  years  and  some  of  the 
younger  ones,  not  at  all  until  that  memorable 
visit.  To  pretend  that  her  death  was  a  per- 
sonal loss  to  any  of  them  would  have  been 
inexcusable  hypocrisy.  To  be  indifferent  in 
one's  thoughts  as  to  the  ultimate  disposal  of 
the  forty  millions  which  each  of  them  stood  a 
good  chance  to  fall  heir  to,  was  impossible. 
But  no  one  mentioned  the  will.  All  murmured 
gentle  things  to  one  another  about  the  dead  and 
all  hoped  and  yet  feared,  planned  and  tried  not 
to  plan,  about  that  forty  millions. 

Van  Tuyl  voiced  the  fear  that  was  in  all 
their  hearts.  "I  am  afraid,"  said  he,  "that 
Aunt  Appleby  did  not  understand  us." 

"And  it's  too  late  now,"  sighed  Stephen. 

"Poor  old  lady,"  they  all  chorused,  hastily. 

"She  was  so  terribly  upset  at  the  thought  of 
being  arrested,"  said  Mrs.  Bingham.  "I  feel 
in  a  way  that  that  shock  was  my  fault." 

"No,  no,"  the  others  protested  kindly. 

"I  did  my  best  not  to  allow  any  strange  man 
to  enter  the  grounds,"  agreed  Mrs.  Bingham, 


258       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

consenting  to  be  comforted.  "I  am  so  afraid 
their  father  will  take  the  children  from  me — " 

"That  comes — "  began  Maude. 

"Maude,"  begged  Van  Tuyl,  with  feeling, 
raising  his  hand,  "let  us  remember  that  death 
has  entered  this  house,  and  let  us  have  peace." 

Everybody  broke  into  talk  at  once  on  a  va- 
riety of  subjects  "to  head  off"  Maude. 

"The  funeral  will  probably  be  day  after  to- 
morrow," said  Harkness. 

"And  the  will  read  directly  afterward,"  said 
Stephen,  speaking  his  mind  without  regard  to 
what  he  said  in  his  haste  to  change  the  subject. 
There  was  a  sudden  silence.  The  will! 

"There  may  be  no  will,"  murmured  Van 
Tuyl.  "Poor  old  lady!" 

"In  that  case,  we  all  share,"  said  Stephen, 
and  added,  delicately,  as  Van  Tuyl  did,  "poor 
old  lady!" 

"Of  course,  we  will  all  stay  for  the  funeral," 
said  Van  Tuyl. 

"Of  course,"  agreed  the  others. 

Nelly  slipped  her  arm  through  Maude's  and 
drew  her  aside  as  all  left  the  room.  "Maude," 


WHO  IS  THE  HEIR  259 

said  she,  "would  you  like  to  go  with  me  and 
listen  to  some  speeches?" 

"Where?"  asked  Maude. 

Nelly  explained.  "On  the  corner  of  Main 
Street  The  Union  of  'Amalgamated  Button 
Mold  Operators'  is  going  to  make  speeches 
about  the  strike  that  is  coming  and  they  want 
to  get  the  Associated  Brotherhood  of  Button 
Stampers  to  go  out  with  them." 

Maude  looked  at  her  slim  young  cousin  in 
surprise.  "Indeed,  Nelly,"  she  declared,  "I 
would  love  to  go.  Tommy  can  take  us  in  the 
car — but  I  didn't  know  that  you  went  in  for 
this  sort  of  thing." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Nelly,  and  blushed  a  beautiful 
delicate  pink.  "I  have  become  interested  in 
the — the  Working  Man." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Maude.  "It  is  a 
shame  when  you  think  what  those  people  have 
to  endure.  Positively,  I  know  it  for  a  fact, 
some  of  them  don't  get  more  than  fifteen  dol- 
lars a  week." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Nelly.  "It  is— terrible,"  and 
she  thought  of  the  contentment  and  peace  that 


260       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

pervaded  the  Rubensteins'  home  and  knew  that 
she  was  in  her  heart  a  traitor  to  Reuben's 
cause,  the  holy  Cause  of  Labor,  and  knowing 
which,  was  only  the  more  tender  to  Reuben. 

Ricky  refused  all  invitations  to  join  the 
party,  and  after  tucking  Nelly  in  the  car,  stood 
a  moment  on  the  steps  watching  it  disappear 
down  the  drive.  Then  as  he  turned  with  a 
sigh  to  reenter  the  house  he  saw  Miss  Varney 
coming  down  the  wide,  dimly  lighted  hall 
toward  him.  She  was  very  white  and  frankly, 
adorably,  tired,  but  she  smiled  as  she  saw  him 
and  came  eagerly  forward. 

"I  was  looking  for  you,"  she  said,  laying  her 
hand  on  his  arm.  "Can't  we  go  somewhere — I 
must — I  feel  that  it  would  be  no  breach  of 
faith,  would  do  no  harm,  to  tell  you — some- 
thing." 

"Only  tell  me  that  you  love  me,"  cried 
Ricky,  forgetting  everything,  as  he  laid  his 
hand  passionately  on  the  one  that  rested  on  his 
arm,  and  looked  down  into  her  beautiful  eyes. 

She  drew  back,  confused,  lovely.  "Ah,  no," 
she  cried.  "Nelly—" 

"I  know,  dear,"  he  persisted,  still  clinging 


WHO  IS  THE  HEIR  261 

to  her  hand  and  taking  a  step  after  her  as  she 
retreated.  "But  nowadays,  it's  no  dishonor  to 
love  another  woman  than  your  wife.  Divorces 
are  easy.  Nelly  is  a  sweet  little  thing,  but  you 
are  my  queen,  my  ideal — " 

"Hush,  hush,"  protested  the  girl,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears.  "Please,  not  to-night." 

"I'm  a  brute,"  cried  Ricky,  kissing  her  hand 
gently,  reverently.  "I  ought  to  be  kicked,  both- 
ering you  when  you  are  so  tired." 

"I  am  tired,"  she  admitted,  "but  I  wanted  to 
tell  you — "  She  paused. 

"Don't  tell  me  to-night,"  said  Ricky  softly. 
"You  are  too  tired.  Go  to  bed  and  tell  me  in 
the  morning." 

"No,"  she  insisted,  "I  must  tell  you  now.  I 
am  sure  it  will  do  no  harm,  won't  be  a  breach 
of  faith—" 

"Nothing  you  do  could  be  that,"  swore  Ricky. 

She  smiled,  shaking  her  head,  and  sitting 
down  on  the  stairs  to  which  they  had  slowly 
retreated,  made  room  for  him  on  the  step  be- 
side her.  "Miss  Appleby  did  not  ask  me  not 
to  mention  it  and  it  seems  a  shame  not 
er — put  you  all  out  of  your — er — " 


262       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Agony,"  suggested  Ricky  cheerfully,  who 
being  only  an  in-law  had  never  had  any  hope 
of  a  share  in  the  forty  millions  and  could  dis- 
cuss its  disposal  in  impersonal  good-nature. 

"Suspense,"  corrected  Miss  Varney.  "Miss 
Appleby  made  her  will  this  afternoon."  Again 
she  paused  and  looked  at  him  to  see  what  effect 
the  announcement  would  have  on  him. 

But  Ricky  was  unimpressed.  He  nodded. 
"Appleby  said  he  thought  she  had.'* 

"Yes,  she  made  it  and  I  heard  whom  she 
made  the — heir." 

"Jove,"  said  Ricky.  "Forty  millions  is  some 
pile!  Who's  the  lucky  rascal?  Not  me?"  with 
just  a  faint,  far-off,  absurd  hope  that  the  im- 
possible might  have  happened. 

Miss  Varney  shook  her  head.  "I  should  have 
said  that  I  do  not  know  just  exactly  who  the 
heir  is,  but  I  know  that  it  is — none  of  the — 
family."  She  spoke  softly,  as  one  does  when 
breaking  bad  news. 

Ricky's  laugh  at  his  own  foolish  hope  re- 
assured her  and  she  went  on.  "She  had  an 
argument  with  the  lawyer.  He  wanted  her  to 
leave  it  in  the  family.  She  said  the  family 


WHO  IS  THE  HEIR  263 

would  be  disgraced  to  inherit  it.  It  was  tainted 
money.  She  was  a  convict." 

"Poor  old  lady,  by  jove,  that's  pitiful!" 

Miss  Varney  nodded  again,  her  eyes  filling 
with  tears.  "It  was  pitiful,  she  was  so  morti- 
fied, so  ashamed.  Poor  old  lady!" 

"I  suppose  she  left  it  to  charity,"  suggested 
Ricky. 

"No.  She  said  no  charity  would  accept  it 
when  it  was  known  she  died  practically  in 
prison.  She  thought  she  was  going  there,  you 
know." 

"Jove,"  said  Ricky,  "she  didn't  know  charity 
any  better  than  she  knew  us.  Did  she  throw 
it  away?" 

"No.  I  was  called  from  the  room  before  she 
named  the  person,  but  she  has  left  it  all,  every 
cent,  to  one  of  the  servants  in  the  house." 

"Jove,"  gasped  Ricky,  "maybe  it's  the — but- 
ler?" 

"I  don't  know,  I  missed  the  name."  Miss 
Varney  sighed. 

"Maybe — "  Ricky  paused.  "Maybe — it's — 
you."  And  he  looked  at  her  with  growing-awe 
and  admiration.  Money  could  make  her  no 


264       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

more  desirable,  he  told  himself,  and  he  cared 
no  more  for  money  than  the  usual  run  of  hu- 
manity, yet  the  thought  that  she  might  possibly 
be  sole  heir  to  forty  millions  threw  an  added 
attraction,  rather  awe-inspiring,  around  her. 

The  girl  rose,  smiling  a  denial  that  was  be- 
lied by  the  unconscious  and  unconquerable  hope 
in  her  tired  eyes.  "No,  I  am  afraid  not,"  she 
said.  "I  must  go,  now.  Good  night." 

"Good  night,"  replied  Ricky  soberly,  and  as 
he  watched  her  mount  the  stairs,  he  wondered 
what  she  would  do  with  forty  millions. 


CHAPTER  XX 

EVERYBODY  SUSPECTED 

ANNA,  the  maid,  slammed  a  dish  of  corn- 
meal  mush  in  front  of  Appleby,  a  dish 
he  particularly  hated. 

"There's  your  mush,"  said  she  sternly,  as 
Appleby  peered  in  surprise  at  the  soft  yellow 
concoction.  "Cook  was  mad." 

"My  good  girl,"  said  Appleby.  "You  have 
made  a  mistake — " 

"Cake?"  shrilled  the  girl.    "Hot  cakes?" 

Appleby  raised  his  voice.  "Mistake.  I  said 
you  have  made  a  mistake.  I  do  not  care  for 
mush." 

Anna  tossed  her  head.  "You  said  you 
wanted  some  mush  and  I  had  cook  make  it 
special." 

"No,  no,"  protested  Appleby.  "I  said  hash, 
corn  beef  hash." 

Anna  jerked  away  the  offending  dish.    "You 
said  mush,"  she  declared  angrily. 
265 


266       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Oh,  Anna,"  said  Ricky  loudly,  smiling  gaily 
at  the  girl,  "will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  bring 
me  some  toast?" 

"Eh?"  demanded  the  girl. 

"Toast,"  repeated  Ricky,  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly. "Toast.  Thank  you." 

Anna,  somewhat  softened  by  masculine 
friendliness,  nodded  and  left  the  room. 

"Dear,  dear,"  said  Appleby.  "Why  did  the 
Lord  make  ears,  if  we  have  to  be  deaf?" 

"Anna  is  stupid,  too,  I  think,"  declared  Mrs. 
Morgan. 

"I  know,"  agreed  Ricky,  "But  every  time 
I  look  at  her,  by  jove,  I  can't  help  wondering 
if  she's  the  heir." 

"Has  the  shock  last  night  upset  you,  Ricky?" 
asked  Van  Tuyl  as  the  others  stared. 

It  was  breakfast  time,  but  Miss  Varney  had 
not  appeared  and  Ricky  felt  that  she  had  re- 
mained away  to  give  him  an  opportunity  to 
break  the  news  to  the  assembled  family.  He 
explained  what  he  meant.  There  was  a  mo- 
ment of  horrified  silence,  then  a  prolonged 
sigh. 

"By  jove,"  said  Van  Tuyl,  after  a  bit,  his 


EVERYBODY  SUSPECTED          267 

voice  grim  with  awe,  "suppose  it  is  the  but- 
ler?" 

"I  think  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan.  "He  has 
a  very  fine  face." 

"It  may  be  Anna,"  said  Ricky.  "She  is  deaf, 
you  know,  and  Aunt  Appleby  was  sorry  for 
her." 

"Forty  millions,"  sighed  Harkness. 

Cally  burst  into  tears. 

"My  child,"  expostulated  Mrs.  Morgan  with 
the  weary  tenderness  of  ceaseless  repetition, 
"what  is  the  trouble?" 

"I — I — had  hoped  she — she  would  leave  me 
enough  to  be — eco — nomically  in — de — pen- 
dent," sobbed  Cally.  "I — I  am  so  tired  of  type- 
writing." 

"It  is  a  shame,"  declared  Maude.  "If  she 
had  only  left  you  some,  you  could  join  me  in 
promoting  the  study  of  Greek  postures  for 
shop  girls." 

"I  want  to  go  h — h — ome  and  stay  h — 
h — ome,"  sobbed  Cally. 

"My  dear,"  said  Maude  encouragingly, 
"think  of  the  noble  example  set  us  by  the 
birds—" 


268       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Maude,  for  goodness'  sake,  why  birds?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels.  All  were  more 
or  less  upset.  When  nerves  have  been  frayed 
by  the  fact  that  forty  millions  have  just  been 
willed  out  of  the  family,  a  weeping  woman 
does  not  add  to  the  general  feeling  of  joy. 

"Apparently,"  said  Maude  coldly,  "you  have 
not  kept  abreast  of  the  literature  of  the  day. 
Birds  are  the  highest  form  of  civilization — " 

"Pigs,"  interrupted  Appleby,  "are  the  high- 
est form.  They  have  no  appendices.  We 
'should,  therefore,  model  our  lives  on  pigs — " 

"I  suppose  you  mean  me,"  said  Harkness 
angrily,  finishing  his  third  bowl  of  mush. 

"It  may  possibly  be  the  chambermaid,"  said 
Mrs.  Bingham  suddenly. 

Recalled  to  the  forty  millions,  every  one 
sighed,  dismally,  but  before  they  could  agree 
or  disagree,  Anna  entered  with  Ricky's  toast. 

"Oh,  Anna,"  screamed  Appleby,  staring  at 
the  girl  in  fascinated  wonder  if  it  could  be  pos- 
sible that  she  was  the  heir  to  forty  millions, 
"oh,  Anna,  I  believe  I  forgot  to  thank  you  for 
having  cook  make  me  that  mush — " 

Anna  stared  in  frozen  disgust. 


EVERYBODY  SUSPECTED          269 

"Ach,  mush,"  she  shrilled  angrily,  "you  said 
you  didn't  want  no  mush — " 

Appleby  hastened  to  explain.  "No,  no.  I 
was  just  thanking  you — " 

"Thanking  me,  for  what?" 

"For  the  mush—" 

"But  you  said  you  didn't  want  no  mush." 

All  strove  to  explain  at  once.  Who  knew  but 
in  three  short  days,  this  beautiful  room,  the 
exquisite  table  linen  and  priceless  old  silver 
might  belong  to  this  deaf  girl? 

Nelly  rose  and  slipped  out.  The  ceaseless 
uproar,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  was  all  so  use- 
less. In  a  secluded  corner  of  the  flower  garden, 
she  came  upon  Reuben  down  on  his  knees, 
tenderly  setting  out  some  lily-bulbs. 

"I  have  to  do  this  where  the  Union  can't 
see  me,"  he  explained,  falling  back  on  his  heels 
to  look  up  at  her. 

Nelly  nodded  and  sat  down  on  an  empty  box. 
"Has  Mr.  Murphy  finished  your  window?"  she 
asked. 

The  morning  was  warm  and  cloudless.  The 
freshly  turned  earth  in  the  flower  bed  was 
still  a  rich  brown,  damp  and  odorous,  mingling 


270       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

with  the  scent  of  the  lilacs.  In  the  heavy  tree 
branches,  the  birds  chatted  and  Nelly,  glancing 
up  into  the  deep  green,  wondered  vaguely  if 
they  had  unions,  or  had  they  passed  beyond  the 
union  stage. 

"No,"  answered  Reuben.  "The  Union  found 
out  about  it  and  wouldn't  let  him  do  it.  You 
see  he  is  only  allowed  to  put  in  glass,  though 
he  is  a  good,  all-round  carpenter,  but  the  Union 
only  lets  each  man  do  one  thing." 

"Why  can't  the  man  do  what  he  wants?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Reuben.  "If  each  man  did 
all  he  could,  there  wouldn't  be  enough  work  to 
go  round.  So  we  couldn't  have  the  window. 
It  cost  too  much  to  have  five  men,  each  doing 
one  thing  and  getting  a  day's  pay  for  it." 

Nelly  nodded.  She  was  out  of  sorts.  All  the 
world  was  crooked  that  morning  and  her  tem- 
per with  it.  Reuben  gazed  at  her  tenderly, 
reading  her  mood,  while  the  look  of  a  wounded 
dog  crept  into  his  eyes,  because  she  was  cross. 
He  picked  up  the  trowel  and  dug  a  few  mo- 
ments. Nelly  watched  him,  her  irritation  be- 
ing soothed,  the  crooked  made  straight,  just 
because  she  was  with  him. 


EVERYBODY  SUSPECTED          271 

"If  I  had  plenty  of  money,"  said  Reuben, 
pausing  in  his  work,  "you  would  like  me  bet- 
ter." 

Nelly  blushed  a  deep  crimson,  knowing  that 
she  could  not  like  him  any  more  than  she  did, 
but  that  if  he  had  money,  she  would  not  be 
ashamed  because  she  did  like  him.  He  was 
watching  her  with  lowering  sullen  eyes. 

"You  know  it's  so,"  he  accused. 

"Indeed,  it  isn't,"  she  lied  desperately. 

"You  think  I'm  beneath  you,"  he  went  on 
hotly. 

She  didn't  think  it,  she  knew  it.  And  she 
knew,  likewise,  that  she  would  deny  her  love 
rather  than  stoop  to  him.  The  only  thing  she 
didn't  know  was  why  she  cared  for  him  so. 

"How  silly,"  she  sneered.  "I'm  not  so  con- 
ceited. You  are  probably  a  great  deal  better 
than  I  am." 

"Morally,  you  mean,"  he  retorted,  voicing  her 
own  miserable,  half-formed  thoughts  and 
hurling  them  into  her  face.  "Morally,  I'm  as 
good  no  doubt,  but  socially  I'm  beneath  you  and 
in  this  world,  morals  aren't  in  it  with  social 
rank." 


272       ONLY  KELATIVES  INVITED 

"It  isn't  so,"  flamed  Nelly,  knowing  that  to 
a  certain  extent  it  was  so.  "We  aren't  horrid 
like  that." 

"Every  one  is,"  said  Reuben  gloomily.  "We 
would  all  of  us  a  darned  sight  rather  be  in 
an  exclusive  set  here  than  go  to  Heaven." 

"I  am  not  horrid,"  cried  Nelly.  "I  can't 
explain.  I  know  it's  not  money,  I  want.  Fd 
have  married  Ricky,  whether  he  had  a  cent 
or  not." 

"But  unless  I  have  money,  I'm  beneath  you," 
insisted  Reuben.  "Money  would  e\ren  things 
up." 

He  looked  at  her  with  the  deep  love  in  his 
eyes  reproaching  her,  begging  for  mercy,  and 
the  girl's  tender  heart  throbbed  faster.  She 
couldn't  bear  to  see  that  look  in  his  eyes.  Her 
one  instinct,  her  one  desire,  was  to  drive  it 
away. 

"Oh,  Reuben,  it  isn't  so,  it  isn't  so,"  she 
cried.  "Money  is  nothing  to  me.  Don't  you 
see  it  isn't  money?  If  a  man  fulfilled  my  ideal, 
I  would  love  him  though  he  broke  stones  on 
the  highway."  She  smiled,  tenderly,  plead- 
ingly. 


EVERYBODY  SUSPECTED  273 

For  a  moment,  his  wounded  love  would  not 
relent.  Then  slowly  his  face  softened,  he 
smiled  wistfully  and  bending  his  head,  gently 
kissed  the  small  hand  on  his  arm. 

When  some  three  hours  later,  Nelly  returned 
to  the  house,  she  came  upon  the  butler  sur- 
rounded by  an  animated  group  of  ladies,  chat- 
ting gaily.  The  butler,  tall  and  lean,  with  his 
long,  stupid,  pallid  face  towering  above  the  rest 
of  the  group,  was  frankly  nonplussed  at  this 
sudden  excess  of  interest  in  him  and  his.  Chin 
high  in  the  air,  he  strove  to  maintain  his  dig- 
nity and  answer  the  gentle  flow  of  questions 
with  the  respect  due  one  in  his  station. 

"Hi  do  not  know,"  said  he,  in  answer  to 
Mrs.  Bingham's  gentle  query  if  he  believed  in 
suffrage.  The  probable  heir  to  forty  millions 
would  be  a  good  recruit  for  the  "cause."  And 
when  better  to  catch  him  than  now,  before 
any  other  foolish  cause  could  learn  of  his 
worth  and  seize  him? 

Mrs.  Morgan  laughed  gaily.  "That  is  quite 
clever,"  said  she.  "Do  not  compromise  your- 
self, Mr.  Hicks." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SOME  SUDDEN  DEPARTURES 

SAMMY  had  watched  Vera  during  the  last 
few  days  growing  all  the  while  more  and 
more  perplexed,  hoping  and  yet  not  daring  to 
hope  that  this  Vera  revealed  to  him  for  the 
first  time  was  the  real  Vera,  and  that  the 
strenuous,  working-girls'-friend-no-more-pov- 
erty-no-more-trouble-everybody-perfect  Vera 
had  somehow  disappeared.  She  seemed  lately 
more  like  a  human  being  and  less  like  a  re- 
former than  she  had  since  the  wedding-day. 
He  followed  her  out  on  the  porch  after  lunch 
and  drew  her  diffidently  aside  to  a  secluded 
corner. 

"Vera,"  said  he,  "I've  shut  up  the  apartment, 
you  know,  for  the  summer  and  am  stopping  at 
the  club,  but — if — er — if  you  want  to  come 
back—" 

"Bime  by,"  said  Vera  gently.     "Just  now, 
274 


SOME  SUDDEN  DEPARTURES  275 

Sammy,  I  am — er — trying  to  insure  Marjory 
her  own  father." 

"Is  he  sick?" 

"No,  but  mother  and  he  are  getting  tired  of 
each  other.  I've  got  to  show  them  that  we 
can't  quit  a  duty  we  have  taken  upon  ourselves 
just  because  we  are  tired  of  it." 

"No,"  agreed  Sammy,  in  his  old  lifeless 
tone.  This  was  the  Vera  he  knew,  the  strenu- 
ous, uplift,  Women's  Rights  Vera.  Her  tone 
had  penetrated  his  consciousness  before  he  was 
able  to  grasp  the  full  meaning  of  her  words; 
when  he  slowly  realized  what  she  had  said,  he 
turned  to  her  in  more  surprise.  Vera  had  left 
him  with  Reno  as  her  ultimate  destination 
when  her  visit  at  her  aunt's  was  over.  She 
would  have  scorned  the  suggestion  that  other 
than  the  highest  duty  moved  her  westward. 

"But,  Vera,  if  they  want  a  divorce — "  he 
questioned. 

"They  are  overgrown  children,"  returned 
Vera  cheerfully.  "Each  should  be  spanked. 
They  will  get  over  this  mood  and  like  each 
other  again,  when  I  have  convinced  them  that 
they  have  to  live  together  for  the  kids'  sakes. 


276       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Mother  can't  imagine  now  what  she  got  a  di- 
vorce from  my  father  for." 

Sammy  thrilled  at  the  wonderful  new  com- 
mon sense  in  his  wife's  remarks,  though  he 
still  doubted.  "But,  Vera,  you  have  always 
said  when  a  man  and  woman  cease  to  love 
each  other — " 

"Poppycock,"  laughed  Vera.  "We  get  mar- 
ried because  we  think  we  love,  but  it  isn't 
love.  It's  only  passion.  True  love,  Sammy, 
only  comes  after  years  and  years  together. 
After  the  honeymoon  and  our  infatuation  dies, 
we  grow  tired  of  each  other  but  if  we  will 
only  hang  on,  the  right  kind  of  love  will  come 
to  us  and  stay,  and  grow  with  the  years  and 
the  children  and  the  trouble." 

She  paused,  blushing  and  confused  in  her 
new-found  wisdom.  Sammy  was  on  the  verge 
of  tears.  He  caught  her  hand,  regardless  of 
who  might  see  them  and  leaned  toward  her 
with  his  old-time  ardor. 

"Vera,"  he  whispered,  "we'll  hang  on,  eh, 
old  girl?" 

Mrs.  Morgan  approached  before  Vera  could 


SOME  SUDDEN  DEPARTURES  277 

do  more  than  smile  a  shy  assent.  "Vera,"  she 
said,  "I  have  just  been  talking  with  Mr.  Hicks." 

"Mister  Hicks,  mother?" 

"The  butler.  He  is  a  very  intelligent  man, 
quite  remarkable.  A  man  in  the  making,  my 
love."  Mrs.  Morgan  sighed.  "As  soon  as  the 
funeral  is  over,  I  must  leave  at  once  for  Reno, 
but  maybe  Sammy  will  take  an  interest  in 
Hicks,  Mr.  Hicks.  I  am  convinced  that  he  is 
the  heir." 

"Who  is  the  man  you  are  planning  to  go 
to  Reno  on  account  of,  mother?"  asked  Vera. 
Sammy  discreetly  withdrew. 

"My  dear,  you  see  how  it  is.  When  our 
two  souls  met  and  recognized  each  in  the  other, 
his  mate,  his  absolute,  identical  self,  it  is 
not  right  for  me  to  remain  longer  with  Mr. 
Morgan." 

"When  is  marriage  not  a  marriage?"  asked 
Vera  flippantly. 

"When?"  asked  her  mother  instinctively. 

"When  it's  a  bore,"  said  Vera,  with  a  bit  of 
a  yawn.  Poor  little  Marjory  was  doomed  to 
grow  up,  it  seemed,  mentally  elongated  to  fit 


278       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

several    varieties    of    fathers.     "Who    is    he, 
mother?" 

"Who  is  who,  Vera?" 

"Your  soul's  mate,  mother?" 

"My  dear,"  protested  her  mother,  and  dis- 
creetly changed  the  subject.  "I  think  Mr. 
Hicks  is  quite  remarkable.  I  know  that 
this  is  sudden,  terribly  sudden,  but  he  is 
a  man  of  rugged  strength,  uncultured,  perhaps, 
but  of  keen  intellect,  strong,  virile,  masterful." 
Again  she  paused  and  sighed.  "I  am  sure  he 
is  the  one  to  whom  your  aunt  has  left  her 
money.  Don't  you  think  so,  Vera?" 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea,  mother." 

"You  can  take  Marjory  to  Aune  Belle's  can't 
you,  dear,  so  that  I  may  leave  at  once  for  the 
West?" 

"Yes,"  said  Vera,  acknowledging  defeat,  "I 
can.  I  do  hope  he  learns  not  to  drop  his 
haighs." 

But  Mrs.  Morgan  had  caught  sight  of  Ap- 
pleby  on  the  lawn  below  the  house  kindly 
bestowing  a  bill  on  the  gardener,  and  though 
she  could  not  hear  what  was  said,  she  judged 
that  it  was  a  loan  and  that  her  first  husband 


SOME  SUDDEN  DEPARTURES  279 

was  affably  waving  aside  any  mention  of  a 
return. 

"My  dear,"  she  cried,  turning  to  Vera,  "I 
do  believe  your  father  thinks  it  is  the  gar- 
dener." 

"I  don't  know  what  he  thinks,  mother.  I 
think  it  is  Miss  Varney,  myself." 

"Miss  Varney?"  questioned  her  mother, 
frowning.  "I  hope  not — that  is,  of  course, 
you  know,  I  wish  it  had  been  you,  dear." 

A  strain  hung  over  the  house.  It  was  im- 
possible to  give  an  order  to  a  servant  without 
wondering  if  he  or  she  were  soon  to  be  sole 
heir  to  forty  millions-  Inevitably  one's  voice 
softened,  was  a  bit  more  dulcet,  a  trifle  more 
ingratiating.  They  had  all  of  them  been  kind 
to  the  servants  heretofore,  for  they  were  well- 
bred  people,  but  now  there  was  a  difference, 
indefinable,  but  nevertheless  there. 

"It  may  possibly  be  Anna,"  admitted  Van 
Tuyl  to  Harkness  as  they  smoked  in  the  li- 
brary. "But  personally,  I  think  Miss  Varney 
is  the  chosen  one  and  that  Ricky  is  a  darned 
lucky  chap.  He  was  struck  with  her  right  at 
the  beginning  and  she's  certainly  gone  on  him." 


280       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"No,  sir,"  contradicted  Harkness.  "It  is 
Anna.  She  is  deaf  and  stupid  and  yet  aunt 
kept  her  and  was  sorry  for  her.  It  is  she  aunt 
would  naturally  remember  in  her  will." 

Van  Tuyl  nodded  thoughtfully.  "Maybe 
that's  so,"  he  admitted. 

"She  isn't  really  stupid,  either,"  defended 
Harkness.  "It  is  all  due  to  her  deafness.  With 
money  enough  to  go  to  a  specialist,  she  might 
entirely  recover  and  become  a  charming 
woman." 

"If  she  is  the  heir,  she  will  have  money 
enough,"  said  Van  Tuyl  grimly  and  a  trifle 
bitterly. 

"Precisely,"  agreed  Harkness,  rising. 

He  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and 
strolled  carelessly  out  of  the  long  French  win- 
dow. Slipping  quickly  around  the  house,  he 
reentered  by  the  side  door  and  made  a  roun- 
about  way  to  the  dining-room.  It  was  almost 
lunch  time  and  Anna  would  in  all  probability 
be  there  laying  the  table.  And  his  curiosity 
was  aroused  to  know  just  how  stupid  the  heir 
to  forty  millions  might  be.  He  found  her  there, 
standing  aside  and  stolidly  watching  Van  Tuyl 


SOME  SUDDEN  DEPARTURES  281 

deftly  arranging  the  plates.  Van  Tuyl  was 
flushed.  He  had  come  with  the  same  curiosity 
that  had  brought  Harkness,  and  it  had  been 
embarrassing  talking  to  the  girl;  one  stood  a 
pretty  good  chance  of  being  overheard  by  the 
family.  He  flushed  still  more  when  he  saw 
Harkness. 

"Ah,  Tom,"  said  he  carelessly. 

"Ah,  Freddy,"  stammered  Harkness.  "Er — 
er — I  thought  I  heard  the  bell." 

He  backed  away  hastily  and  hurried  out  to 
the  porch  to  be  as  far  away  as  possible  so  as 
not  to  overhear  Van  Tuyl's  frantic  shouts  of 
social  gaiety,  for  Harkness  was  game.  Around 
the  house,  on  her  duty,  swinging  her  billy,  came 
the  policewoman  and  a  great  throb  of  peace  and 
joy  settled  upon  Harkness.  Here  was  protec- 
tion, absolute,  enduring,  for  life.  What  mat- 
tered forty  millions? 

"Good  morning,"  said  he. 

She  paused,  blushed,  and  stood  swinging  her 
stick,  smiling  at  the  ground  at  her  feet,  one 
hand  making  frantic  dabs  at  her  hair.  For 
the  first  time,  Harkness  noticed  that  her  hair 
was  no  longer  dragged  stiffly  back,  but  was 


282       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

delightfully  curled  in  tiny  tight  ringlets  across 
her  brow  just  beneath  the  visor  of  her  cap. 
It  seemed  to  Harkness  that  he  had  never  seen 
anything  quite  so  sweet.  He  strove  to  speak 
but  could  find  no  words  adequate  to  the  occa- 
sion. "Nice  day,"  he  stammered,  moistening 
his  lips. 

"Yes,"  said  the  policewoman,  and  added  with 
the  instinct  of  the  female,  since  the  beginning 
of  time,  to  flee,  "I  must  be — going." 

"Let  me  go  too,"  cried  Harkness,  bold  now 
before  her  evident  confusion. 

"It's  only  on  my  beat,"  she  said. 

"Let  us  beat  it  together,"  he  whispered 
ecstatically. 

"Where?"  she  asked. 

"To  New  York,"  cried  Harkness,  fired  with 
an  inspiration.  "We  can  catch  the  two-ten,  get 
married  in  New  York  and  sail  to-morrow  for 
Europe." 

"All  right,"  said  the  policewoman  simply, 
and  Harkness  laughed  aloud  in  exuberance. 
For  the  first  time  in  months,  he  felt  perfectly 
safe  as  he  saw  before  him  the  long  vista  of  the 
sheltered  years  to  come. 


SOME  SUDDEN  DEPARTURES  283 

Harkness'  chair  was  empty,  when  half  an 
hour  later  the  family  assembled  for  lunch. 

"Where  is  Tom?"  asked  Appleby  anxiously. 

"He  said  he  had  to  catch  the  two-ten  for  the 
city,  on  business,"  answered  Ricky.  "I  met  him 
a  moment  ago,  and  he  said  he  had  not  time  for 
lunch." 

"What's  he  gone  to  the  city  for,  I  wonder," 
mused  Appleby,  feeling  that  as  Tom  was  a 
client  of  his  he  should  have  consulted  him. 

"Thank  you,  Anna,"  screamed  Stephen  May- 
hew,  as  Anna  handed  him  his  tea. 

"Oh,  Anna,  if  you  please,  just  a  bit  more 
sugar,"  yelled  Mrs.  Bingham,  smiling  merrily 
at  the  girl. 

"Where,"  asked  Mrs.  Alison  Drake  Fisher 
Parker,  half  rising  from  her  chair,  "where  is 
Sadie  Fisher?" 

"She  went  this  morning,"  explained  Mrs. 
Morgan.  "She  couldn't  find  you  and  asked  me 
to  say  good-by  to  you  for  her." 

"What  child  did  she  take?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Bingham,  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels  and  Mrs.  Alison 
Drake  Fisher  Parker  in  one  voice- 

"Jimmy,"  laughed  Vera  reassuringly.    "She 


284       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

said  if  she  remarried  a  hundred  times  she 
would  never  mistake  Jimmy  again." 

Miss  Varney  had  sent  down  her  excuses  and 
was  lunching  in  her  own  room.  She  felt  that 
during  this  time  of  strain  and  anguish,  the 
family  should  be  left  to  itself  as  much  as 
possible,  to  discuss  without  embarrassment,  the 
disposal  of  the  forty  millions.  When  Anna 
left  the  room,  Mrs.  Bingham  nodded  her  head 
and  declared: 

"Positively,  I  am  fully  convinced  that  it  is 
Mrs.  Mainwaring." 

Appleby  nodded.  "I  shouldn't  be  surprised. 
She  has  been  in  aunt's  service  a  good  many 
years." 

"Why,  Henry,"  cried  Mrs.  Morgan,  "I 
thought  that  you  thought  it  was  the  head 
gardener." 

"He  is  a  very  keen  man,"  admitted  Appleby 
slowly.  "I  talked  to  him  a  bit  to-day  and  he 
really  has  some  unique  ideas.  He  thinks  that 
a  man  owns  his  own  property.  I  shouldn't 
be  surprised  if  aunt  had  given  the  business 
to  him." 

"I  think  it  is  the  upper  girl,"  declared  Mrs. 


SOME  SUDDEN  DEPARTURES  285 

Von  Loben  Sels.  "I  have  engaged  her  for  a 
nurse.  I  thought  that  the  poor  thing  would 
need  a  friend,  and  I  didn't  see  how  I  could  be 
a  friend,  you  know,  unless  I  had  some  hold 
on  her.  Of  course,  as  soon  as  she  receives  the 
money,  she  will  be  a  friend  of  the  family,  one 
of  us." 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  dismayed  silence, 
as  each  pondered  this  clever  move,  then  Mrs. 
Morgan  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  said  she,  "I  know  it  is  Mr.  Hicks,  a 
man,  every  inch  of  him — " 

Mr.  Hicks  entered  at  that  moment  and  Mrs. 
Morgan  blushed.  He  strode  straight  to  her 
chair  and  the  good  lady  blushed  still  redder 
and  tried  not  to  look  triumphant.  Her  tones 
had  been  so  positive  that  for  the  moment  all 
believed  she  was  right. 

Without  a  word,  head  up,  chin  out,  the  swal- 
low-faced Hicks  presented  her  with  a  small 
waiter  and  on  it  a  telegram.  In  a  sympathetic 
hush,  Mrs.  Morgan  took  up  the  envelope,  tore 
it  open  and  hastily  read  the  message.  Once 
more  she  read  it,  more  slowly,  then  she  turned 
bruskly  to  Hicks. 


286       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Have  you  a  pencil?" 

Hicks  presented  her  with  one.  She  cleared 
a  space  in  front  of  her  and  wrote  an  answer. 

"See  that  that  is  sent  at  once,"  she  ordered 
crisply. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Hicks  and  stalked  from 
the  room  with  the  graceful  ease  of  an  excep- 
tionally poorly  made  mechanical  toy. 

Mrs.  Morgan  handed  the  telegram  to  Vera 
and  rose.  "I  must  catch  that  two-ten,  if  I 
can,"  said  she.  "Excuse  me,  please." 

Vera  read  the  telegram  hastily  and  jumping 
up  followed  her  mother  from  the  room. 

"Mother,"  she  asked,  catching  up  with  her 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  "are  you  going  to  leave 
at  once  for  Reno?" 

"For  Reno?  My  child,  I  am  going  at  once 
to  my  husband." 

"But,  mother,"  gasped  Vera,  "he  says  that 
he  has  lost  everything." 

"I  know,"  her  mother  paused  on  the  top 
step  and  wiped  her  eyes.  "Vera,  it  is  so  pitiful. 
He  worked  so  hard  and  now  he  hasn't  a  cent. 
How  can  you  imagine  I  could  leave  him?" 

"Oh,  mother,"  cried  Vera,  with  a  catch  in 


SOME  SUDDEN  DEPARTURES     287 

her  voice,  "I  know  you  can't.  I  think  you  are 
fine,  mother." 

In  the  midst  of  her  hasty  packing,  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan paused  and  turned  to  Vera  who  was 
frantically  folding  a  waist  while  the  maid  had 
gone  to  bring  in  Marjory.  "He  is  so  fat," 
said  she,  with  a  half  sob.  "I  can  just  see  him 
fat  and  unhappy.  There  is  always  something 
so  pathetic  about  fat  people  in  trouble,  and 
now  he  hasn't  a  cent." 

Vera  stopped  and  kissed  her  mother. 
"Sammy  and  I  can  help,  dear,"  she  whispered. 

Mrs.  Morgan  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  we  shall 
be  able  to  get  along  somehow.  I  shall  not 
let  him  see  that  I  mind  at  all." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TWO  MORE  FIND  THE  WAY 

TO-MORROW  Miss  Appleby  was  to  be  laid 
with  her  fathers  with  all  the  state  and 
ceremony  which  became  an  Appleby.  In  the 
afternoon  the  unfortunate  will  was  to  be  read 
to  those  that  remained  to  hear  it.  The  last 
dinner  was  a  depressingly  quiet  meal.  To- 
morrow night,  at  that  time,  who  would  be  site 
ting  at  the  head  of  the  massive  mahogany 
table,  mistress  of  the  beautiful  place?  Could 
it  possibly  be  Anna,  thought  Appleby  as  he 
meekly  drank  the  weak  tea  the  girl  had  placed 
before  him,  having  mistaken  his  order  for  a 
cup  of  strong  coffee,  please.  Then  he  glanced 
at  Miss  Varney  and  the  horrible  uncertainty 
of  the  last  three  days  engulfed  him.  Miss 
Varney  was  gravely  sweet,  quiet  and  unob- 
trusive. If  she  had  any  hopes  of  the  forty 
millions,  one  could  not  guess  it  from  her  serious 
manners,  the  retiring  deference  of  a  paid  com- 

288 


TWO  MORE  FIND  THE  WAY      289 

panion  in  the  presence  of  the  grief  of  her 
employer's  family.  Yet  logic  pointed  to  her  as 
the  heir,  pointed  so  conclusively  that  for  the 
moment  Appleby  envied  Ricky.  Nelly  and 
Ricky  were  bored  with  each  other  and  could 
easily  think  up  a  few  noble  sentiments  that 
would  entitle  them  to  a  divorce. 

Appleby  strolled  into  the  hall  slowly  after 
the  others,  and  pausing  a  moment  to  light  a 
cigar,  looked  up  to  find  that  they  had  all 
left  him,  that  he  was  alone.  He  heard 
Stephen  and  his  latest  in  the  dining-room, 
yelling  an  offer  at  Anna  to  enter  their  employ- 
ment, and  he  fancied  he  caught  a  sight  of 
Tommy,  lingering  in  the  back  drawing-room 
as  though  to  slip  in  when  his  turn  came.  Ap- 
pleby shrugged  wearily.  After  all  it  was 
retribution.  All  had  come  with  the  wild  hope 
of  sharing  in  that  forty  millions.  None  had 
come  with  the  simple  intention  of  seeing  their 
aged  kinswoman.  She  had  always  been 
frankly  indifferent  to  them  and  her  indifference 
had  bred  theirs.  Though  she  was  herself  to 
blame,  yet  it  was  pitiful  to  be  old  and  alone 
as  she  had  been,  dying  with  no  one  to  care 


290       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

save  how  she  might  dispose  of  her  money.  No, 
decided  Appleby  philosophically,  compared  to 
love  money  is  nothing. 

"Hullo,  dad,  trying  to  make  up  your  mind 
whether  it!  is  Anna  or  the  up-stairs  girl?" 
asked  Vera  gaily,  coming  up  behind  him  and 
slipping  her  hand  through  his  arm. 

"It  may  be  the  butler,"  said  Appleby 
earnestly,  philosophy  forgotten.  "Your  mother 
seemed  to  think  so." 

"I  fancy  it  is  the  cook,"  declared  Vera.  "She 
is  a  negro  woman,  but  has  been  great  aunt's 
cook  for  years.  Er — tainted  herself,  she 
wouldn't  mind  the  tainted  money." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Appleby  slowly.  "I  didn't 
know  that." 

Vera  nodded.  "Yes,  I  found  out  this  morn- 
ing. I  was  talking  with  Miss  Varney.  I  said 
it  was  a  shame  that  so  many  servants  would 
be  thrown  out  of  nice  positions  and  I  wondered 
what  the  cook  would  do,  for  she  is— er — get- 
ting old,  you  know,  dad,  and  it  would  be 
harder  for  her  to  find  a  place  than  for  the 
younger  ones.  Miss  Varney  said  that  great- 
aunt  was  terribly  fond  of  her  and  that  the  law- 


TWO  MORE  FIND  THE  WAY      291 

yer  told  her,  Miss  Varney,  that  she,  the  cook, 
need  not  worry.  Great-aunt  had  taken  care 
of  her.  She,  Miss  Varney,  said  that  the  law- 
yer said  he  knew  great-aunt  would  want  her 
to  know  and  would  have  told  her  herself  if  she 
had  not  died  so  suddenly.  Neither  Mrs.  Main- 
waring  nor  Miss  Varney  was  permitted  to  be 
in  the  room  when  the  heir  was  finally  decided 
upon." 

"By  jove,"  said  Appleby,  "it  would  be  nat- 
ural to  leave  her  the  money." 

"Certainly,"  declared  Vera.  "She  deserves 
some  reward  for  all  her  labors.  I  think  it 
would  be  fine — " 

A  step  on  the  stairs  above  them  drew  their 
startled  gaze.  Mrs.  Mainwaring  was  de- 
scending. 

"Dad,  you're  blushing,"  whispered  Vera. 
"Why  don't  you  try  your  luck  again?"  And 
with  a  hasty  little  pat  on  his  arm  she  hurried 
away. 

Appleby  flushed  and  wished  that  Vera  had 
been  a  bit  more  delicate  in  her  remark  and  less 
hasty  in  her  departure.  He  liked  Mrs.  Main- 
waring  and  had  liked  her  for  years.  She  was 


a  keen  observer  and  a  decidedly  well-read 
woman,  who  thought  deeply  upon  what  she 
read  and  often  reached  original  and  amusing 
conclusions.  She  was  a  gentlewoman  and  the 
trouble  she  had  suffered  had  broadened  her 
and  deepened  her  sympathies,  refining  her  in- 
nate sweetness  and  goodness.  Appleby 
watched  her  as  she  descended  the  wide 
staircase,  with  the  high  stained  glass  window 
on  the  landing  behind  her,  the  heavily  carved 
mahogany  hand-rail  on  which  her  soft  white 
hand  rested  lightly,  and  realized  that  she  would 
not  be  an  unworthy  mistress  of  the  beautiful 
old  place,  and  of  the  forty  millions.  Angrily  he 
put  the  forty  millions  out  of  his  mind,  telling 
himself  that  he  knew  she  liked  him  as  he  liked 
her.  They  were  both  middle-aged,  a  bit  lonely 
and  ready  to  settle  down,  not  asking  or  expect- 
ing love,  preferring  indeed,  quiet  friendship 
and  congenial  companionship.  He  walked  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  waited  for  her.  He 
had  been  a  fool  not  to  have  thought  of  her 
before  in  that  er — way. 

"You  look  tired,"  said  he  gently,  as  she  drew 
near. 


TWO  MORE  FIND  THE  WAY        293 

"I  am,"  she  replied,  "tired  and  sad.  Miss 
Appleby  was  very  dear  to  me." 

"And  you  to  her,"  declared  Appleby  warmly. 

"I  think  so,  too,"  agreed  Mrs.  Mainwaring 
with  charming  simplicity.  "I  was  with  her  for 
twenty  years." 

The  unbidden  tears  showed  a  moment  in  her 
soft  gray  eyes  and  she  wiped  them  away 
frankly  with  no  attempt  to  apologize  for  them 
or  to  laugh  her  emotion  aside.  "Two  old  wom- 
en," said  she.  "Now  she's  gone  and  I  am 
alone." 

Appleby  felt  the  sudden  tears  in  his  own 
eyes.  Of  all  the  household,  this  woman  alone 
grieved  whole-heartedly,  with  not  a  thought  of 
the  forty  millions.  "So  am  I,"  said  Appleby, 
"old  and  gray  and  tired  and  alone.  My  wives 
and  my  children  married  and  in  homes  of 
their  own." 

"As  one  grows  old,  the  heart  grows  so  easily 
satisfied,"  said  she. 

"But  never  with  loneliness,"  protested  Ap- 
pleby. "Then,  I  think,  more  than  ever,  a  man 
wants  a  woman  to  go  with  him,  hand  in  hand, 
to  meet  the  shadows." 


294       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"They  are  coming  so  close,"  said  Mrs.  Main- 
waring1  softly. 

"And  coming  closer  every  day/'  added  Ap- 
pleby,  just  as  softly,  gently  laying  his  hand  on 
hers  as  it  rested  still  on  the  banisters.  "Mrs. 
Mainwaring,  will  you  marry  me?  I  have  ad- 
mired you  for  years.  We  are  congenial.  We 
two,  I  think,  are  the  only  ones  who  really 
mourn  for  my  aunt.  We  have  much  in  com- 
mon. You  have  enough  money  to  be  indepen- 
dent and  so  have  I.  We  would  be  happy  to- 
gether, I  know." 

Mrs.  Mainwaring  nodded  gravely,  and  held 
out  her  hand,  looking  him  steadily  in  the  eyes. 
"I  think  we  would,"  she  agreed  simply.  "But 
we  must  be  honest  With  each  other.  Ten  years 
ago  I  made  Miss  Appleby  promise  not  to  leave 
me  anything,  except  a  few  old  keepsakes,  of  no 
earthly  value  to  any  one  save  to  her  and  to  me. 
I  had  put  by  a  little,  enough  to  be  independent, 
and  I  wanted  no  question  of  money  to  come 
between  us.  It  never  did.  We  loved  each 
other.  You  must  know  this  and  not  court  me 
with  any  expectations." 

Her  eyes  twinkled  irresistibly  and  Appleby 


TWO  MORE  FIND  THE  WAY      295 

knew  he  wanted  her,  money  or  no  money.  A 
sense  of  humor  in  a  wife  is  compensation  for 
a  hundred  millions. 

"Woman,"  said  he  gently,  "I  would  rather 
go  with  you  to  meet  the  shadows  than  with 
any  one  else  I  know." 

"But  why,"  she  asked  smiling,  "as  I  am  not 
to  receive  the  forty  millions?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Appleby  frankly,  want- 
ing her  the  more  the  more  she  hesitated.  "But 
I  do  want  you."  He  put  his  arm  around  her 
shoulders  and  drawing  her  to  him  raised  her 
hand  to  his  lips.  "It  may  be  because  a  woman 
who  has  a  sense  of  humor,  can  never,  please 
God,  become  a  feminist." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

SAFETY  FIRST  FOR  NELLY 

IT  was  the  last  night,  the  last  night!  They 
sat  side  by  side  on  the  horse-block  in  the 
concealing  darkness  of  the  porte-cochere. 
Nelly  felt  that  her  heart  was  not  breaking,  but 
simply  stopping,  giving  out  with  longing  as 
was  her  mind,  growing  weak  as  were  her 
wabbly  knees.  The  sheer  fact  of  her  cowardice 
sapped  all  her  strength.  She  wanted  him,  but 
she  dared  not,  could  not,  throw  aside  her 
world  and  take  him — dared  not,  could  not,  en- 
ter his  world.  It  was  very  dark.  The  moon 
would  not  rise  until  late  and  the  sky  was  heav- 
ily overcast.  She  could  feel  him  sitting  beside 
her  and  could  catch  an  outline  of  his  handsome 
head  if  she  glanced  at  him,  which  she  seldom 
did,  for  always  he  was  looking  straight  at  her 
and  she  could  not  meet  his  eyes,  even  in  the 
shadows  of  the  night. 

"Yes,"  said  he  grimly,  "we  strike  day  after 
296 


SAFETY  FIRST  FOR  NELLY       297 

to-morrow.  I  have  left  this  place  and  shall  be 
on  the  committee  to  manage  the  strike.  They 
elected  me  to-day."  His  voice  was  full  of  un- 
conscious pride  and  he  paused  to  give  her  time 
to  congratulate  him  because  of  the  honor,  but 
she  only  nodded. 

What  were  strikes  and  committees  to  her 
when  life  ended  to-night?  She  wondered  that 
he  could  talk  of  such  things  and  decided  that 
lie  did  not  care  as  she  cared.  She  told  herself 
that  she  was  glad  it  was  so  and  suffered  an- 
guish at  the  thought  that  perhaps  he  didn't. 
He  mistook  her  silence  for  opposition  and 
hastened  to  defend  himself  and  his  friends. 

"We  have  to  have  justice,  somehow.  The 
law  is  all  for  the  rich  man,  bought  up  juries — " 

"I  know,  that  is  why  I  hate  the  poor  man 
so,"  blazed  Nelly.  "They  allow  themselves  to 
be  bought." 

"Eh?"  asked  Reuben. 

"The  rich  man's  money  would  be  powerless 
if  it  wasn't  for  the  poor  man's  greed,"  said 
Nelly  hotly. 

Reuben  preferred  to  continue  and  leave  that 
point  undisputed.  "The  rich  are  a  law  unto 


298       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

themselves.  Now,  look  at  your  cousin,  living 
with  a  man  who  isn't  her  husband  and  feeling 
no  shame." 

"Who?"  gasped  Nelly. 

"Why,  that  Miss  Peters,  the  one  who  goes 
with  Mr.  Lane." 

"Oh,  she's  married,  she  and  Tommy,"  ex- 
plained Nelly  hastily.  "She  just  calls  herself 
by  her  maiden  name." 

"Why?" 

"To  avoid  confusion,  I  think,"  said  Nelly 
doubtfully.  "You  see  if  she  is  always  called 
Miss  Brown,  she  will  never  become  confused 
as  to  what  her  last  name  is  after  she  has  been 
divorced  a  number  of  times.  Peters  is  her 
grandmother's  name  and  she's  decided  to  be- 
gin with  her  father's." 

"Oh!"  said  Reuben- 

For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  then  he  broke 
forth  again  at  the  old  wound :  "You  don't  like 
me  because  I  have  no  money." 

"It  is  not  so,"  cried  Nelly,  the  hot  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "Reuben,  I  do  like  you." 

"You  are  ashamed  of  me." 

In  the  dark  Nelly  blushed  at  the  justice  of 


SAFETY  FIRST  FOR  NELLY       299 

his  accusation.  "I  am  not,  I  am  not,"  she 
cried  earnestly,  to  convince  herself. 

"I  care  for  you,"  he  rushed  on,  laying  his 
hand  on  her  knee.  "Oh,  Nelly,  you  will  never 
know  how  much."  He  choked  on  a  sob  and 
was  silent,  fighting  for  his  self-control.  "To- 
morrow, you're  going,"  he  went  on  after  a  mo- 
ment, "and  what'll  become  of  me?  Nelly,  I  tell 
you,  without  you  there's  no  world — for  me,  no 
Heaven  and  no  God,  only  hell." 

"Reuben,  Reuben,"  she  whispered,  all  atrem- 
ble  to  be  in  his  arms. 

He  stared  before  him  a  moment  in  the  dark- 
ness. Behind  them,  somewhere  in  the  great 
house,  a  window  was  raised,  and  they  heard 
the  catch  of  the  lock  as  the  screen  was  drawn 
into  place.  Off  across  the  lawn,  beyond  the 
stables  and  the  meadows,  came  the  whistle  of 
a  freight  train  and  the  night  vibrated  with  the 
jarring  of  its  passing.  Then  Reuben  put  his 
elbow  on  his  knee  and  his  chin  in  his  hand, 
while  his  other  clung  to  her  gown,  like  a  small 
child  fearful  of  losing  its  mother.  She  heard 
his  strangled  sob  and  caught  in  the  darkness 
the  quiver  of  his  broad  shoulders. 


300       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Ah,  Reuben,  don't,"  she  pleaded,  laying  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder  and  leaning  toward  him 
in  an  agony  of  misery.  "Reuben,  please,  I  do 
care — so  much." 

He  turned  on  her  and  crushed  her  to  him 
fiercely,  getting  to  his  feet  and  dragging  her 
with  him. 

"Nelly,  Nelly,"  he  cried,  kissing  her  hair, 
her  face,  anywhere  he  could  find,  on  her  eyes, 
brow,  mouth,  and  she  clung  to  him  in  an  ec- 
stasy of  surrender,  conscious  only  that  she 
loved  him  and  he  loved  her. 

After  a  time  his  senses  came  back  and  he 
questioned  her  with  the  incredulous  joy  of  the 
accepted  lover.  "Sweetheart,  you  love  me?" 

"Ah,  Reuben,"  she  cried,  clinging  to  him. 

"Say  it,"  he  begged.  "Tell  me,  dear  heart, 
that  you  love  me." 

"I  love  you,"  she  whispered,  and  felt  him 
tremble  as  he  pressed  her  closer. 

Long  they  stayed  there  in  the  shadows,  now 
sitting  on  the  horse-block,  hand  in  hand,  his 
arm  around  her,  her  head  in  blessed  comfort 
on  his  shoulder ;  now  standing,  clinging  to  each 
other  in  the  joy  of  their  confessed  love;  now 


walking  up  and  down,  his  arm  always  around 
her,  her  small  hands  clasped  in  his.  At  last 
she  dragged  herself  away  and  he  followed  her 
to  the  great  front  door,  where  a  moment  they 
clung  and  kissed,  then  parted,  Nelly  to  creep 
through  the  silent  house  to  bed,  Reuben  to  walk 
and  walk,  through  the  grounds,  across  the 
meadows  to  the  open  country  beyond. 

Vera  was  asleep  as  Nelly  slipped  into  the 
room  and  the  younger  girl  did  not  turn  on  the 
light  but  crept  to  the  open  window  and  curled 
herself  up  on  the  window-seat,  too  excited  to 
sleep.  Long  she  sat  there,  gazing  out  into  the 
darkness,  the  cool  night  wind  in  her  face. 
Slowly  her  ecstasy  passed,  slowly  the  reaction 
of  worn-out  nerves  began.  Try  as  she  might, 
she  could  not  help  but  see  Mrs.  Rubenstein,  big 
and  fat  and  common.  She  saw  the  small  boy 
in  her  arms,  with  his  comical  little  Jewish  face, 
and  her  soul  sickened.  Back  in  the  old  country, 
the  rest  of  the  brothers  and  sisters,  what  were 
they  like?  Peasants,  ignorant,  illiterate.  And 
what  of  the  father,  whom  she  had  never  seen, 
but  who,  Reuben  had  told  her,  had  a  fine  job 
in  a  pawn-shop?  Gasping  for  breath,  like  one 


302       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

drowning,  she  raised  her  hand  to  her  throat 
and  her  tortured  thoughts  rushed  on.  What, 
after  all,  was  Reuben  but  a  servant?  Not  only 
in  position,  but  in  bringing-up,  in  birth?  She 
could  understand,  how  sometimes,  after  terri- 
ble misfortune,  Ricky  and  his  class  might  have 
to  take  a  menial's  place,  but  that  was  different. 
They  themselves  were  not  menials  and  as  soon 
as  possible  they  would  stop  doing  the  menial 
work.  With  Reuben,  it  was  no  shame,  no  low- 
ering of  himself  and  his  ideals  to  do  low  work. 
He  and  his  were  menials.  They  might  rise,  be- 
coming wealthy,  become  refined,  with  the  inevi- 
table refinement  wealth  brings,  and  then  be 
worthy  of  her  and  hers,  but  now  they  were  serv- 
ants and  the  shame  that  she  could  stoop  to  love 
him  nearly  killed  her,  there  in  the  dark.  She 
could  smell  in  fancy  the  garlic  which  she  always 
associated  with  his  family,  she  didn't  know 
why,  and  could  see  the  loaves  of  Kosher  bread 
they  ate.  Then  she  remembered  her  promise 
that  as  soon  as  she  was  free  she  would  marry 
him.  It  wasn't  he  whom  she  would  be  marry- 
ing, but  his  family,  who  ate  with  their  knives, 


SAFETY  FIRST  FOR  NELLY       503 

who  poured  their  tea  into  their  saucers  to  cool 
it  and  then  drank  it  from  the  saucers,  the  wash- 
women and  the  butchers! 

Like  a  startled  animal,  she  leaped  to  her 
feet  and  stole  swiftly,  noiselessly,  from  the 
room.  Somewhere  in  the  great  dark  silent 
house,  a  clock  struck  three.  Quickly  she  sped 
down  the  hall  and  flew  up  the  second  flight  of 
stairs,  groping  for  the  banisters  by  the  faint 
light  from  the  great  windows.  Breathlessly, 
she  ran  along  the  wide  hall  to  the  room  which 
Ricky,  Tommy  and  Sammy  were  forced  by  the 
size  of  the  family  to  share.  But  not  wishing 
to  disturb  the  last  two,  she  did  not  knock,  but 
gently  turned  the  knob  and  pushed  the  door 
open.  A  moment  she  hesitated,  glancing  from 
bed  to  bed,  at  each  sonorous  sleeper,  then  reas- 
sured that  none  was  about  to  wake,  she  stole 
to  Ricky  and  seized  his  arm,  shaking  him 
gently,  firmly,  persistently. 

"Ricky,  Ricky,"  she  called  in  a  whisper  of 
agonized  haste. 

"Huh,"  grunted  Ricky,  suddenly  aroused  and 
sitting  up.  "Huh?  What's  the  matter?" 


304       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"Ricky,  hush,  it's  I,"  pleaded  Nelly.  "Get 
up.  I'll  wait  for  you  in  the  hall.  Come  as 
quickly  as  you  can." 

She  hurried  out,  and  presently,  half  dressed 
and  wholly  dazed,  he  joined  her  at  the  alcove 
where  she  waited. 

"Oh,  Ricky,"  she  cried,  catching  hold  of  his 
arm,  "take  me  away  from  here !" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Ricky  promptly,  drawing 
her  to  him.  "Don't  fret,  Nelly,  we  will  go  di- 
rectly after  breakfast  is  over." 

"I  want  to  go  now,"  cried  Nelly,  sobbing. 
"Oh,  Ricky,  take  me  now." 

"There,  there,"  soothed  Ricky.  "We  can't 
go  now,  dear — " 

"We  can,  Ricky.  There  is  a  milk  train  at 
five.  We  can  catch  it." 

"Our  trunks—" 

"Oh,  Ricky,  I  can't  wait.  We  can  each  take 
a  suit-case  and  send  back  for  the  trunks.  I 
have  to  go,  I  must.  I  can't  see  any  one  again. 
I  want  to  get  away  while  it's  dark,  before  he 
knows  I'm  going." 

Ricky  thought  of  Miss  Varney  and  of  the 
forty  millions,  and  shrugged  them  heroically 


SAFETY  FIRST  FOR  NELLY       305 

aside,  unconscious  that  he  was  heroic.  Nelly 
was  apparently  in  trouble  and  needed  him,  and 
that  he  must  take  care  of  her  was  his  only 
thought.  He  patted  her  gently  on  the  shoulder. 

"All  right,  skipper,"  said  he  jovially  and  yet 
tenderly,  "it's  as  you  say." 

"I'll  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,"  said  Nelly, 
sniffing  violently.  "Meet  me  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  in  the  lower  hall." 

"All  right,  little  girl,"  replied  Ricky,  sup- 
pressing a  yawn  until  she  had  disappeared 
down  the  darkened  hall. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  REFORMED  SOCIALIST 

THE  funeral  was  over  and  luncheon  was 
finished.  Nelly  and  Ricky's  sudden  dis- 
appearance had  been  exclaimed  over  and  won- 
dered about,  and  now,  what  remained  of  the 
family  was  assembled  in  the  library,  waiting 
the  arrival  of  the  lawyer  and  the  will.  All 
had  given  up  hope  and  yet  all  hoped,  and  would 
keep  on  hoping  until  the  end.  It  was  just  pos- 
sible that  Miss  Varney  was  mistaken.  Any 
tentative  suggestion  toward  breaking  the  will, 
if  the  worst  happened,  was  waved  aside. 

"You  can't  break  a  will  any  more  nowadays 
than  you  can  a  woman's  heart,"  sneered  Van 
Tuyl,  suddenly  turned  cynical. 

"Women  are  no  longer  fools,"  declared 
Maude,  who  could  argue  on  any  and  all  occa- 
sions. "We  have  our  own  interests  nowadays." 

"I  know,  Maudie,"  agreed  Van  Tuyl,  "but 
306 


A  REFORMED  SOCIALIST         307 

just  confess  that  the  most  interesting  thing  to 
a  woman  is  a  man." 

"Indeed,  I  will  not,  for  it  isn't,"  cried  Maude. 
Tommy  had  been  away  since  immediately  after 
breakfast,  missing  both  the  funeral  and  lunch, 
and  she  scorned  to  show  her  anxiety  as  to  his 
whereabouts  by  asking  if  any  one  had  seen 
him  or  knew  where  he  was. 

The  butler  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  all 
drew  a  relieved  breath,  having  mistaken  his 
step  for  the  lawyer's,  thankful  for  a  moment 
to  postpone  the  evil  hour. 

"Mr.  Van  Fleet,  the  phone,  sir,"  said  Hicks. 

Sammy  withdrew  leaving  Maude  still  in  pos- 
session of  the  floor. 

"Hullo." 

"Hullo,"  said  a  weak  voice  from  the  other 
end  of  the  line.  "That  you,  Sammy?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sammy.    "Who's  this?" 

"Me— Tommy." 

"Oh,  Tommy?  Hullo,  what's  the  matter?" 

"Nothing." 

"Oh." 

"Hullo." 

"Hullo." 


308       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

"I  say,  Sammy,  why — er — Anna — er — she 
has  just  joined  me — " 

"Eh?    Say  it  again." 

"Anna  and  I  are  going  away  together." 

"Great  heavens,  man,"  groaned  Sammy,  for- 
getful that  he  might  be  overheard,  "she  may 
not  inherit  the  money." 

"Damn  the  money,"  snarled  Tommy.  "I 
love  her.  She's  a  woman  and  not  an  individual. 
She's  deaf  and  I  can  talk  a  lot  to  her  without 
her  jumping  on  me  and  disagreeing  with  every- 
thing I  say."  His  voice  grew  higher  and  higher 
as  he  continued  and  the  wires  hummed  shrilly 
as  though  echoing  his  soul's  protest  at  the  long 
fruitless  years  just  passed.  "She  doesn't  say 
much,  just  yes  and  no,  thank  God.  She  listens, 
though,  all  the  time,  even  if  she  can't  hear.  Are 
you  there?" 

"Yes,"  gasped  Sammy. 

"She's  going  to  wait  for  me  to  get  a  divorce. 
She's  going  to  stop  off  in  Detroit  at  her  sister's 
and  I'm  going  on  to  Reno.  Can  you  hear  me?" 

"Yes,"  groaned  Sammy. 

"Maude  can  get  a  divorce  for  desertion,  if  I 
can't,  then  I'll  marry  Anna.  Say,  Sammy,  she's 


A  REFORMED  SOCIALIST         309 

promised  that  when  we're  married,  she'll  call 
herself  Mrs.  Thomas  Lane."  His  voice  thrilled 
into  ecstasy  and  Sammy  nearly  lost  the  words 
so  loud  the  wires  hummed.  "You  there?" 

"Yes,  I'm  here." 

"I — I — er — I  want  you  to  tell  Maude." 

"Hi,  there,  Tommy,  hold  on,"  cried  Sammy, 
but  only  the  buzz  of  the  broken  connection  an- 
swered him. 

He  saw  Hicks  looking  at  him  coldly,  imper- 
sonally, from  his  station  at  the  front  door.  He 
beckoned  to  him. 

"Hicks,  get  a  cab  and  put  my  things  and  Mrs. 
Van  Fleet's  into  it.  I  am  going  to  the  station 
now  and  won't  wait  until  the  will  is  read.  Have 
it  at  the  side  door  where  no  one  will  see." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Sammy  went  to  the  desk  in  the  hall  and 
wrote  two  notes,  one  to  Maude  and  one  to  Vera, 
then  he  gave  them  to  Hicks  to  deliver  and 
slipped  cautiously  out  of  the  side  door  to  the 
waiting  cab.  The  rattle  of  the  departing  cab, 
clearly  heard  in  the  library,  again  raised  the 
agony  of  hope  deferred  and  Hicks'  entrance  was 
upon  an  impressive,  though  nervous,  hush. 


310       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

Stolidly  he  presented  his  notes  and  withdrew 
while  a  sigh  of  relief  at  another  respite  followed 
him. 

"Dear  Vera,"  Vera  read.  "Tommy  has  run 
away  with  Anna.  He  wants  me  to  break  it  to 
Maude.  I  wouldn't  face  her  for  the  forty  mil- 
lions. I  have  written  her.  Come  to  the  station 
directly  the  agony's  over.  Sammy." 

Vera  glanced  at  Maude  fearfully  as  Maude 
slowly  read  her  note.  A  deep  red  crept  into 
her  cousin's  cheeks  and  then  sank.  Maude 
raised  her  eyes  and  stared  dully  before  her, 
then  crushing  the  note  in  her  hand,  she  rose. 

"Maude,"  cried  Mrs.  Von  Loben  Sels,  "are 
you  ill?" 

"No,"  said  Maude,  her  face  ghastly. 

Cally  went  to  her  and  tried  to  slip  her  arm 
around  her  waist,  but  Maude  pushed  her  coldly 
away  and  with  a  slight  inclination  of  her  head 
to  the  others,  went  quickly  out,  Cally  following 
humbly  after  her.  Vera  had  half  risen  to  go 
to  her  cousin,  but  she  was  popular  with  the  men 
and  Maude  was  not  and  she  knew  her  advances 
would  be  scorned  as  condescension,  so  she  sank 
back  again  into  her  big  chair. 


A  REFORMED  SOCIALIST         311 

Up-stairs  strode  Maude,  and  up-stairs,  after 
her,  trotted  the  humble  Cally.  In  her  room, 
Maude  sat  down  suddenly  on  the  bed.  Cally  sat 
down  meekly  beside  her. 

"Maude,"  she  pleaded,  "can't  I  help  you 
bear  it?" 

Maude  shook  her  head,  staring  before  her 
with  drawn  face  and  wretched  eyes,  then  sud- 
denly the  tension  snapped  and  she  bowed  her 
head  in  her  hands,  sobbing  pitifully.  Cally's 
arms  went  around  her  and  drew*  her  head  to 
Cally's  breast  and  Cally's  soft  small  voice 
crooned  to  her  as  a  mother  would.  In  complete 
surrender  Maude  clung  to  the  little  woman  and 
sobbed  out  her  grief. 

The  hubbub  of  excitement  over  Maude  was 
interrupted  immediately  by  the  long  expected 
entrance  of  the  lawyer.  Everybody  drew  a 
deep  breath  and  stirred  nervously.  There  were 
many  greetings  and  handshakes,  chairs  were 
moved,  papers  rustled  and  they  finally  got 
down  to  business.  The  lawyer  drew  forth  the 
will,  opened  it  slowly  and  slowly  put  it  down. 
Then  he  took  out  and  carefully  adjusted  his 
eye-glasses,  being  particular  to  wipe  them  thor- 


312       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

oughly  with  his  handkerchief.  Slowly  he  took 
out  the  handkerchief,  blew  his  nose  and  re- 
turned the  handkerchief  to  his  pocket.  Again 
he  picked  up  the  will,  glanced  at  it  a  moment, 
read  a  few  words  to  himself  and  again  low- 
ered the  papers  and  glanced  over  his  glasses  at 
the  others.  There  was  no  one  present  but  the 
family,  both  Miss  Varney  and  Mrs.  Mainwar- 
ing  having  preferred  to  remain  away.  It  would 
be  a  painful  occasion  at  best  and  the  family 
should  have  at  least  privacy  in  which  to  receive 
the  shock  of  the  certainty. 

The  lawyer  cleared  his  throat.  "Of  course," 
said  he  slowly,  precisely,  "you  are  all  aware 
that  this  is  Miss  Appleby's  last  will  and  tes- 
tament." 

There  was  a  polite  murmur  of  assent. 

"She  has  made  this  will,  I  feel  compelled  to 
advise  you,  exceptionally  hard  to  break,  if  any 
of  you  so  contemplated,"  said  the  lawyer  and 
glanced  from  face  to  face  over  his  glasses. 

Again  there  was  a  polite  murmur  of  assent. 

"I  trust  that  none  of  you  will  be  disap- 
pointed, h'm." 

"No,"  said  some  one  and  tut,  others  nodded 


A  REFORMED  SOCIALIST         313 

while  their  hearts  sank  and  the  last  glimmer  of 
hope  died  out. 

"Miss  Appleby  was  very  eccentric,"  pro- 
ceeded the  lawyer,  removing  his  glasses  and 
thoughtfully  tapping  the  will  with  them.  "She 
had  lived  alone  so  long  she  had  lost  touch  with 
the  march  of  the  times."  He  paused  and  the 
room  was  absolutely  still.  Again  he  glanced 
from  one  to  the  other,  again  put  down  the  will 
and  again  slowly,  impressively,  adjusted  his 
eye-glasses  and  picked  up  the  will.  Once  more 
he  cleared  his  throat  and  then  began  to  read, 
in  a  deep  sonorous  voice. 

The  preamble  was  not  heard,  the  first  few 
minor  bequests  fell  on  deaf  ears.  All  were 
waiting  for  the  final  clause,  the  disposal  of  the 
residue  of  the  estate,  the  forty  millions. 

"The  residue  of  my  estate,  both  real  and  per- 
sonal," read  the  deep  grave  voice,  and  not  an- 
other sound  was  heard  as  all  leaned  a  bit  for- 
ward. "The  residue  of  my  estate,  both  real  and 
personal,  I  do  give  and  bequeath,  outright,  to 
one  Reuben  Rubenstein,  my  fourth  assistant 
gardener,  and  his  heirs  and  assigns,  forever." 

There  followed  a  few  more  instructions,  the 


314       ONLY  RELATIVES  INVITED 

name  of  the  executor  who  was  to  serve  with 
said  Reuben  Rubenstein  until  the  estate  was 
settled,  and  a  clause  as  to  the  breaking  of  the 
will,  but  nobody  heard  any  more.  Reuben  Ru- 
benstein heir  to  forty  millions,  to  the  great 
house,  the  land,  the  button  factory!  Reuben 
Rubenstein!  Who  was  he?  Had  any  of  them 
seen  him?  Reuben  Rubenstein,  fourth  assist- 
ant gardener! 

Reuben  Rubenstein  looked  across  the  table, 
littered  with  papers,  at  the  foreman  of  the 
button  factory  who  had  been  called  to  the 
great  house  for  a  consultation. 

"Now,  Pope,  as  to  the  strike,"  said  Reuben 
Rubenstein,  while  the  executor  who  was  to 
serve  with  him  under  heavy  bonds,  nodded 
grimly.  "Let  the  men  know  at  the  beginning 
that  if  they  strike,  it  will  be  a  fight  to  the  fin- 
ish, to  the  finish,  understand,  and  their  finish 
will  come  before  mine.  I  refuse  absolutely  to 
be  blackmailed,  and  that's  all  a  strike  is.  Those 
men  are  getting  good  wages.  What  they  need 
is  more  grit  and  ability  and  determination  to 
get  on.  Let  them  work  hard  and  save  their 


A  REFORMED  SOCIALIST         315 

money.  Any  man  nowadays  can  rise  if  it's  in 
him.  It  all  simply  depends  on  the  man  himself. 
I  shall  run  my  business  as  I  see  fit  and  I  refuse 
to  be  dictated  to.  This  is  my  property.  If  a 
man  doesn't  like  his  job  he  can  quit.  But  as 
long  as  there  is  justice  in  America,"  said  Reu- 
ben Rubenstein,  "I  shall  run  my  own  affairs  as 
I  damn  please.  Understand!" 


THE  END 


A    000126911     7 


